


One Girl, In This Entire War

by awkwardCerberus



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Follows Canon Plot, Inappropriate Behavior, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mentions of past abuse, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Touching, OOC Charactors, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape, Seekers, Underage Sex, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, minor depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardCerberus/pseuds/awkwardCerberus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knock Out and Breakdown have a daughter now, and they've tried so hard to live as a family. But when one event tears down everything they've worked so hard to build, there's no going back.</p><p>(More or less follows the TFP plot line; previously titled "Switchblade".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deus Ex Machina

**Author's Note:**

> Okay all, this is my first OC-centered story, so here's hoping it'll go well. This story was originally published under the title "Switchblade", but I made several errors and thus had to republish it. So if you liked that one, here it is again. The first two chapters are the same. But for all of you who read the first three chapters, you'll notice the tags have gotten exceptionally more serious, and I can only hope you'll continue reading.
> 
> Also also, ive deleted the prologue and made tags changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since i forgot to add this earlier, the chapters that follow or are linked directly wit, and episode will have that episode name as the chapter name. That tends to keep things organized. And if the chapter does not follow/link itself to an episode will just have a name based on the content. Also I should probably include:
> 
> -comm link dialogue (italicized)-
> 
> {Bumblebee's dialogue}

The bridge was ominous at best. The nighttime thunderstorm in the background didn't really help the mood any. Switchblade hated coming up here, but she followed behind her father. In the dim light, she could see Starscream standing at the end of the bridge and a shiver ran up her back, but she fought back the overwhelming urge to run away. The young femme felt his soul-burning gaze even through his back.

"It's been a long time, Knock Out. I do not enjoy being kept waiting."

"Ah, it was a long drive, Starscream. I'm still picking bugs out of my grill," he plucked a dead mosquito off his chassis and flicked it aside.

"I've never understood why any self-respecting Decepticon would choose an automobile as a vehicle mode instead of flight," he side stepped the mech and glared at Switchblade with the smallest hint of lust behind his vivid optics. He stroked a claw down her left wing—stopping to trace the detail of her insignia, "like your dear daughter here. My, she's grown into quite the young femme since last I saw her."

Switchblade squirmed uncomfortably under the foreign touch, "I-I'm scheduled to clean the—uh—the lab, today, uh, Lord Starscream," she ducked away and walked towards the door: arms hugged across her chest and wings tilting down as she did, "I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me."

Knock Out glared at the commander, "don't ever touch my daughter like that again...in fact, I want you nowhere near her. If this happens again I'll drive right off this warship and you can kiss my aft goodbye!" he took a brief pause and collected himself—though still extremely enraged, "this had better be good."

...

He stepped into the medbay absolutely appalled. Lord or not, Starscream had no right to touch her like that. It was unprofessional, uncouth, despicable, and absolutely inappropriate. It wasn't the first time, though. Starscream was alway staring at her with lust filled stare; or trying to touch her when no one was around. It was disgusting and low. Low even for Starscream. He walked past the door to his and Breakdown's quarters and heard some quiet talking on the other side; he pushed the button for it to open and all but stormed in—flailing his hands angrily.

"Breakdown, I'm glad your back. Honestly, I have had it with Starscream. You will never—" he saw what was happening and his anger dropped completely, "oh. I see you've heard. "

Switchblade was sitting in the middle of their berth: knees curled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around the top, face buried into her elbows, and her wings down so far they scratched against the berth. Breakdown was sitting on the edge next to her; a hand on her back, and gently stroking back and forth with his thumb. Knock Out went over and sat down across from the two.

"About earlier, sweetie, look, I—"

"You don't have to say it, I already know. You're sorry it happened again, there's nothing you can do about it for now even though you would like to, and you and Dad have a mission to go on. I heard the coordinates arrive," Switchblade looked up from her ball. Her usual vibrant red optics were somewhat clouded over, showing that recently she was crying, "you guys can go. I'll set the code for the doors. I'll have my blasters."

Breakdown motioned for him and Knock Out to step aside and they stepped out of the room for a moment, "Knock Out, I say we take her with us on this one. It's just robbing a museum. She's ready to start fighting."

The red mech switched his concerned gaze back on his daughter, "but she shouldn't have to. What if something happens and she gets hurt? Or worse? "

"We'll be right there with her. Besides...she _can_ fly."

Knock Out let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose (or rather, the small dip in his helm that served as one) and walked over the berth. He sat down in front of his daughter, "do you...want to come with us?"

Switchblade looked up and smiled a cocky, one-sided, smile.

...

_–Just keep circling until you see the signal. Don't engage until we engage.–_

_–I'm just up here.-_

Switchblade continued circling over the area, somewhat satisfied with the fact that her dark color scheme blended with the night sky. Down below she saw the red Aston Martin pull up next to a semi. Nothing happened for a few seconds; then she watched the blue bruiser fire a missile. The semi transformed into a tall mech and attempted to catch the shot.

_This is just gonna be easy. Oh yeah, I can do_ this, she thought as she began to descend. Knock Out jammed the electro-prod into the Autobot's neck and stood on the stunned body; flashing his headlight, show time.

_-Switchblade, the motorcycle's all yours-_ Breakdown offered as he let Bumblebee collide with Arcee behind him.

Arcee stood up off the pavement and popped the blades out of her forearms. Switchblade transformed a few feet from the blue femme and kicked her in the face with her pedes—sending both of them skidding across the pavement. Arcee jumped back up and ran at the young seeker—blades poised; the seeker summoned her blasters (they looked ironically similar to Arcee's only smaller) and began shooting an array at the blue femme. A couple shots grazed her, but she acted unaffected. Arcee came up close and began sending slashes at Switchblade, who was trying with every circuit in her frame to black and dodge each one. But Arcee took notice and placed a pede behind the seeker's and tripped her. As she fell backwards, the blue femme landed a small cut on her wing before letting her hit the ground with a small yelp and driving off. Switchblade stood up slowly and wiped a small trail of Energon off her wing, thankful neither of her fathers had noticed. Above her, Soundwave flew away, the Harvester in tow. Knock Out and Breakdown ran over to her and she tilted her wings down halfway trying to hide where she had been cut.

"You were doing pretty good out there," Breakdown smiled, patting her on the shoulder.

"You're not hurt are you?" Knock Out ran his eyes over her frame.

"No. I'm fine, but we probably should get back," her pleasant tone faded out to nervousness and worry, "Starscream hates being kept waiting. I'll wait by the GroundBridge for you," she turned around, resumed her jet mode, and followed behind Soundwave.

"It makes me sick seeing how Starscream treats her," Breakdown all but growled, "I'm kicking his aft tonight."

...

They stepped out of the ground bridge into the excavation site. Starscream was prattling on while Breakdown and Knock Out stood to the side—Switchblade standing behind the pair.

"Thanks to this gift, courtesy of ancient Autobots!"

"Uh, actually it was a gift from us," Knock Out shot back sarcastically.

Starscream pointed the Harvester at the trio. Breakdown took a defensive stance in front of his daughter, should he need to fight the commander. The gold sphere shot out a blue ray—both mechs ducked out of the way, the bruiser shielding the young femme with his back—and hit a Vehicon. Energon gushed out of his plating, following the beam back to the Harvester. Breakdown put a hand over Switchblade's optics, whispering for her not to watch as the Vehicon was drained before them. The trooper asphyxiated into a choked silence as he hit the ground.

"All that Energon...in such a tiny vessel."

"Yeah, they never missed a trick, Lord Starscream," Knock Out quipped.

Behind them, a loud ricochet of breaking glass. Autobots. Breakdown brought out his hammer and broke off to the left while Knock Out broke to the right spinning the electro-prod. Switchblade tranformed and jumped into the sky. The Autobot was large, Bulkhead if she recalled. He ducked down and Breakdown ended up hitting Knock Out in the jaw. She transformed again mid-free fall, hoping to kick him like she had kicked Arcee earlier. However, She didn't see the Autobot grab the electro-prod. When Switchblade was about a foot from kicking Bulkhead, he rammed the prod into the base of her neck. She hit the ground with a choked scream; twitching and seizing as hundreds of thousands of bolts armed with a couple powerful amps clawed through her body. She tried to reach up to pull it out, but couldn't. A moment later, Knock Out was at her side and wrenching it out; Breakdown put his arms under her shoulders and helped her to her feet. She put an arm around both of them to steady herself. In the sky, an immense blue explosion rocked the ground as the Harvester was destroyed. Three more vehicles sped towards them. More Autobots.

"I-I can make it back to the ship. I'll be able to fly. I'm alright," she assured them shakily before taking flight herself and following Starscream's contrail. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her fathers drive off the scene.

That was a lie. She was barely able to stay in the air, let alone look unaffected. Her wing still hurt (hurt was an understatement; it burned. It wasn't too deep, but it was deep enough that some of the highly sensitive wiring was exposed, and the wind whipping across them only made it worse) from whee Arcee had cut her earlier, along with various other nicks and abrasions across her frame that stung against the sharp winds. She still felt the biting aftershock of the electro-prod, which had left her dizzy and barely able to keep her balance. She tried to fly straight but still teetered slightly.

_-Switchblade- Starscream's voice was sharp, with a note of mock concern -has the recent assault had any ill effects on you?-_

_-No, Lord Starscream. I'm fine.-_

_-Then quit flying like your inebriated!-_ he snapped angrily.

She was trying. Fly in a straight line, avoid dipping, don't tilt. When they landed on the flight deck, Switchblade felt every optic on the ship—especially Starscream's—glaring into her back and she walked back to the medbay: arms hugged against her chassis and wings tilted down once more. The hallways were nearly empty, thankfully, aside from the occasional trooper asking if she was alright. A simple "yes, thank you" seemed to work well enough. When she came to the lab's doors, she paused for a minute and took a deep breath before entering. Knock Out was pacing the room, with Breakdown leaning against the wall trying to calm him down. They both froze and snapped their attention to her when they heard the door.

"I was worried! Next time just let us bridge you back!" Knock Out snapped lovingly and wrapped his arms around her, "you really take after your father."

"I'm alright. Really—ah," she hissed in pain. Her knee was killing her. Great.

That's when Breakdown noticed the cut on her wing...and the one on her shoulder...and her favoring her left leg. He picked her up bridal-style and sat her down on the edge of one of the tables, "no, you're not 'fine'."

Knock Out pulled a cart over and began to work. First, pulling out a small icepack from a drawer, shaking it to activate it, and handing it to Switchblade; who held it to her left knee. He pulled the surgical welder down from the ceiling cables and gingerly began to close the cut on her shoulder. She didn't move, but every so often she would wince quietly. Honestly she felt stupid: making a fuss out of little scrapes she could just as easily closed herself with what medical training she was taught.

"You'll need to lie back for this one," Knock Out instructed softly and caring.

Switchblade obeyed, setting the ice pack down on the cart. The red mech tapped in a command at a small panel near the table. It tilted back to a forty-five degree angle amd some loose restraints held her wing in place. A precaution—she was taught—since seeker's wing are highly sensitive, and will move involuntarily. When the wings needed to be worked on, they were often restrained loosely. Knock Out brought the welder down, held the split metal together, and began rejoining it. She tried not to scream with the pain; instead she squeezed at the table.

"Oh, this must be awkward...," Starscream mused crassly from where he was leaning on the doorway.

In an instant Breakdown grabbed the commander by the throat and shoved him into the wall, "if you ever come anywhere near my daughter again, I'm going to personally grind that spark of yours into scrap. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-Yes, but if...I were you...I would mind m-my place," he choked before being thrown on the ground and crawling out of the lab.

* * *

 The other night still reeled through Switchblade's mind. She hadn't seen Starscream at all in three days, but she still felt his eyes on her. He was stalking her, but it was second-hand. He had taken her fathers out on a mission and they had returned with various claw scratches littering their paint; occasionally she would notice Soundwave following her for a while before reporting back to the bridge. Usually going flying at night made her feel better. No less stressed than earlier, she landed on the flight deck and walked back to the lab. This time she walked casually, her wings up in air nonchalantly, her digits tapping lightly at her sides as she walked. The door slid open and she strolled in; Breakdown was running a rotary buffer along Megatron's comatose chassis.

"Hey. How was your flight?"

"Good. Where's Dad?" her shoulders dropped a little with slight irritation, "he's not street racing again is he?"

"Mhmm," he nodded half-heartedly.

Switchblade sighed lightly. One of these days he's gonna get himself into some serious trouble with the human authorities and I'll be sitting back laughing. The main door slid open and Knock Out walked—no, stormed—in grumbling furiously about how some human had keyed a line through the paint on one of his doors. Neither of the other two paid any attention to the story until he mentioned running the guy off a cliff.

"Knock Out, you what?!" Breakdown's tone was an evident mix of both shock and awe.

"A little extreme don'tcha think?" Switchblade had her hands on her hips.

The sports car was already rubbing the scratch out with some hood wax and a cloth before he quietly disappeared into his quarters for a moment, "he scratced my paint, I scratched his."

The main door slid open again and Starscream walked in, slowly, as if calculating what was going to happen next. Then whole room tensed; Switchblade stood still and the commander ignored her presence like a bored animal walking by a rock.

"Ah, Breakdown, has there been any change in Lord Megatron's condition?"

The bruiser shrugged, "only cosmetic."

"Yes, well," Starscream was oddly calm and collected, "I'm sure you and the good doctor are doing everything in your power. Speaking of...where is Knock Out?"

The CMO reappeared in the door way and slowly approached the small scene, "would you believe what some skinjob did to me? Ugh..."

_Here we go again_ , Switchblade thought and held a hand over her mouth to hide her quiet giggling. She swore she could see the edge of Starscream's optic twitch. It was amusing to see the two argue, actually. She zoned them out and just focused on how snappy the red mech was; how audacious and complacent he was when standing up to a commanding officer. The sudden presence passing next to her startled her out of her train of thoughts.

Starscream cleared his throat, declaring his presence in an exasperated fashion, "Swtichblade."

"Wha—huh? Oh...Lord Starscream."

He sneered before walking out of the lab, to which Knock Out gave a hearty "Buff this!" to the commander's back.

Breakdown elbowed him in the side, "hey! Language."

...

Patrol duty...of all the boring, low-grade, things Starscream had ever assigned her to, patrol duty was the absolute dullest. Walking around the perimeter of an Energon mine for four hours waiting for something to happen. She couldn't even hold up a conversation with anyone—and the Vehicons were no help. The sun had set a little while ago and now it was almost pitch black outside the mine, aside from the dim glow of blasters and optics, the quiet moonlight, and the faint glow of Energon.

_-Hey, Switchblade_ \- Breakdown came on through her comm, his tone a mix of alarm and irritation _-we're picking up a few Autobot signals nearby.-_

 She looked over her shoulder at the tree line on the hill above her and saw three figures walking away from a fading ground bridge. _-yeah, I see them.-_

_-Want backup?-_

She transformed her hands into her blasters, _-no. I'll manage.-_

_-Be careful, sweetie.-_ Breakdown said lovingly—yet nontheless concerned—before disconnecting the line.

Switchblade pressed her back to the side of the rock face and prepared to fight. Her spark started pounding nervously. The last time she tried fighting the Autobots, it hadn't exactly gone so well. If these were the same two she had go up against last week, she was definitely, thouroghly screwed. She took a composing breath, raised her blasters, and stepped out from behind her hiding spot. The main cavern of the cave was empty...almost. The six-high stacks of Energon still remained undisturbed (save for a few that had toppled over), but then she noticed all the scattered Vehicons. Probably ten or eleven corpses scattered the cavern, various blaster and blade marks coverd the bodies.

_Oh no...notgoodnotgoodnotgood_ , she thought as her breathing quickened and her blasters began to hum quietly.

Switchblade picked up on some quiet voices in the next cavern and hid against the wall. Two voices—she recognized them from before: Bulkhead and Arcee—and a series of beeps and whirs she could only guess was the infamous Bumblebee. Scrap. The way she saw it, Switchblade had three options: she could call for backup and be yelled at by Starscream for being too weak to fight; she could call for an emergency ground bridge back to the ship and be yelled at by Starscream for running from a fight and letting thier Energon spoils be stolen; or she could try to fight, most likely lose, and then be yelled at by Starscream for not calling for backup and letting the enemy take the spoils. But, at lest if she fought, she could at least use that as leverage...which was better than nothing. So, Switchblade took a deep sigh and readied her blasters. She stepped out from behind the wall and aimed her blasters at...an empty cavern.

"What the..?"

Behind her, someone cleared their throat. She turned around just in time for one of Arcee's fists to knock her out.

 ...

Her helm hurt. Bad. The kind of radiating, pounding, pulse that would continue to ache for a few days. She opened her optics slowly—relieved to see she was still in the cavern—but winced at the surprising brightness. Uh great. I'm gonna have a hard time explaining this.

{Hey, she's awake.}

Switchblade sat up against the rock wall, only to find her wrists and, regrettably, her wings bound behind her back. What was she going to do? Fly away? Arcee walked up to her and eyed her cautiously, one of her hands on her hip, the other transformed into a blaster and resting down at her side. If Switchblade said she wasn't scared, she'd be lying. She was curling up against the wall as much as she could, her wings trying to tilt downwards against the restraints; every time one of the Autobots so much as twitched, she would flinch.

"I remember you," Arcee finally broke the silence, "you're the femme from the museum. But I haven't seen you before. What's your name?"

Switchblade's voice caught in her throat and her optics darted back and forth between Arcee, who was standing like any soldier would, and Bumblebee who was standing there casually, yet still with his guard up. She felt her chest tighten up with nerves

"Um, Switchblade. It's Switchblade."

Bulkhead stepped up, "I overheard some stray radio chatter about a seeker named Switchblade. But—nah," he started chuckling quietly.

{Bulk, what is it?}

"She's...oh you're gonna love this...she's Knock Out and Breakdown's daughter!"

Arcee sighed exasperatedly, "scrap. Ratchet, we need a bridge. And somewhere to keep a prisoner."

If her optics weren't wide before, then they certainly were now. The ground bridge opened a few meter in front of them; Arcee pulled Switchblade up and pushed her towards the bridge.

"Wait-Wait, nononononono, please," the seeker pleaded, too scared to physically resist.

However, the second her pede hit the bottom of the portal, Switchblade found herself unable to speak. The blaster in between her wings and the prospect of being captured by the enemy had her on the verge of panicking. She was prodded through into the Autobot base and her mouth gaped. Optimus walked up to her, she could see three humans on a scaffolding, and another Autobot in the back.

"Oh no," Switchblade whispered before passing out and dropping to the floor.


	2. If There's A Way Out...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now that all the major parts have been successfully reposted, I can finally finish the final chapter (that I'm positive the readers from the previous version have been waiting months for) and can, after a long long wait, post.

"Starscream! You are not listening!" Knock Out yelled, enraged, "we have to do something!"

The commander shrugged, "dear doctor...the Autobots have Switchblade. There's nothing to be done. But why don't you put that mind of yours to good use?"

Once the commander had stepped out of the medbay, Knock Out slammed a fist down on the table. This was exactly what he was afraid of! The day she asked for that insignia he knew this would happen, and guess what? He was right...he could imagine it now: Switchblade cuffed to a table with wires and prods sticking out of her while those sadistic glitches dicked around with her internals. Breakdown came up behind him and put his hands on the CMO's shoulders. Knock Out gave a long sigh and turned around in the bruiser's arms—resting his head on Breakdown's chestplate.

"Switchblade is a strong femme. She can take care of herself for a couple days. The Autobots are a lot of things, but they don't just murder bots for no reason," when the red mech stayed silent, he continued, "we'll figure something out. Maybe we'll try one of those old comm tricks and lure 'em out somewhere."

Knock Out squeezed his arms lightly around Breakdown's middle—burying his face against the familiar blue chassis, "I hope she's alright. If something happens to her, if they hurt her or do anything to her...Breakdown, I—"

"Hey," the bruiser looked down and took Knock Out's helm in his hands, "we'll get her back. I promise," he laid a light, comforting kiss on the top of the red mech's helm, "we'll get her back."

...

"Switchblade? Can you hear me?"

She didn't recognize the voice, and the flashlight shining directly into her optics wasn't exactly helping. Where even was she? This wasn't the mines, nor the Nemesis. In the near distance, she could hear more voices. The patterned beeping she knew was familiar, though from where she couldn't place. She opened her optics, gingerly at first—wincing at bright flood from the darting flashlight—then she bolted them open. She remembered now: getting taken by the Autobots. She was sitting in the corner of (what was presumably) a prison cell, though it looked more like a reinforced garage port, with (who was presumably) Ratchet standing over her. The "cell" was barren; the concrete floor and walls, and the menacing presence of the heavy, barred steel door. All the other Autobots, and the three humans, stood around the doorway. When her wings tried calibrating, she found the restraint removed, but her hands were still cuffed in front of her.

"Switchblade?" the red and white medic asked again.

Her frightened gaze locked onto a syringe poorly hidden in the nearby medical kit. She could see its contents: thick, syrupy, blue-grey liquid filled to the halfway line. Her father was the Chief Medical Officer aboard the Nemesis warship, she had practically been raised in a medbay...and she knew a sedative when she saw one. Okay, think...its blue-grey like all the other sedatives...no bubbling, Switchblade angled her head so the liquid caught the light, green tint went lit...scrap! She recognized the drug as one of the heavier sedatives the medbay stocked; only used for extreme sedation, if even used at all.

"Get away from me!" she panicked and kicked him away. There was the sharp sound of readying blasters, and she threw her arms in front of her face, "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! Please don't kill me. I'll do whatever you want just..." her voice cracked and she felt ashamed for showing vulnerability (if Strscream found out, he'd never let her live it down), "...just don't...don't kill me..."

"We are not going to kill you," Optimus stepped into the cell, while Ratchet stood and backed out quietly, "but there are some questions I'd like to ask of you."

Switchblade lowered her arms, but still tried to avoid eye contact with the Prime and found looking down at her cuffs seemed to work. She knew she was being interrogated. Of course she knew, she had been interrogated hundreds of times by her fathers, by Starscream when he would quiz her on when she was ready to "fully join the Decepticon cause", and the few times she had met Megatron and he wanted to know her.

"I don't know anything," Switchblade prompted first, "at least not anything useful. Starscream doesn't like me going on missions after what happened on the last one. He doesnt tell me anything either...'fraid I'll get myself captured. Guess he was right," she gave a small chuckle at the irony in that statement.

She overheard the human girl talking to the older of the human boys, "I thought the 'Cons were supposed to be all tough and scary and _grrr_. She's like a scared little kitten."

"Miko," he elbowed her shoulder, "she's probably terrified out of her mind, give her a break. God, she looks so young."

Optimus must've heard them to, "I apologize if we are frightening you. Perhaps some time alone might help. Arcee, you are in charge of guarding our guest," the way he phrased it was a paradox. Usually that strain of words was condescending, cold, unwelcoming; but the way the Prime said it made the situation ease down. His tone was calm, collected, and earnest...regardless, it did nothing to comfort her nerves.

Optimus, followed by the rest of the Autobots and humans departed. The door closed and the cell was painted in the rectangular shadows of the door. Switchblade curled up in the corner to the best of her abilities and mulled in her mind over how her fathers were probably fifty shades of worried and just general anger. She could see Knock Out pacing the lab, fretting like always. And then she thought of Starscream. How he'd yell at her, call her a "useless waste of a Seeker", or maybe this was the time he slapped her. And she cringed at that thought. She couldn't do anything about it now, and it didn't seem like she was going anywhere soon. Switchblade leaned against the wall and tried for some decent recharge.

...

When Switchblade woke up, she was greeted by the harsh cacophony of grinding gears as the barred door pulled up. Arcee was standing in the middle of the doorframe, blasters down at her hips—thought no doubt ready to use them if the opportunity presented itself. Ratchet stepped forward from behind the blue femme, the syringe from before in hand. He knelt down by the young Seeker curled up in the corner of her cell and tried to be as gentle as possible when he reached for her arm. She watched, paralyzed by the fact that this Autobot medic was about to inject her with such a large dose of such a heavy sedative.

"Wait, what are you doing?!" she protested, thought it sounded more like a strained plea.

The needle was already in her vein—the thick liquid creeping its way up her arm into her system. The immediate wave of drowsiness was coming quicker than she anticipated.

"I'm giving you a dose of traichiogon," he said, quietly, matter-of-factly...and with the tiniest note of apology.

"I know...that," Switchblade slurred against the drug, trying to get as much said as she could while the sleepy pitch began to wrap itself around her processor, "but...why...no, not that much of it—"

She sagged against the wall as the syringe was plucked from her arm. Ratchet, sighed to himself before standing and walking out of the cell. _So young. She doesn't deserve any of this._

...

The closing of the ground bridge woke her up. Followed by piercing silence. Silence that didn't belong. She opened her optics and the first thing she noticed what how dark her cell was. There was a second, thicker door over the bars from before. Her red optics panned around the room and she tried to stand up—despite the protesting from her sore limbs; the vein in her arm was still prickling and the whole arm itself felt heavy and tight. There was an awkward yet familiar weight around her wings. Not again, Switchblade looked over her shoulder at the previously acquainted restraint. She took a step forward towards the door, but not without the clinking of chains being pulled taught that ricochetted throughout the concrete room. She looked down at the cuffs on her wrist: a thick iron chain ran from the center of the cuffs to a bracket on the wall. The Seeker pulled herself up the her feet—trying to steady herself against the sudden wave of dizziness that flushed over her. The dosage of that sedative was way to high for someone of her frame. It wasn't enough to overdose...but it was enough to keep her under for a good while. She stood on the tips of her pedes and craned her neck to look out the small slits along the top of the second door; pulling as far away as the chains allowed her. The base was empty. Lonely.

"Hello?" she called, praying inside that someone would answer instead of the silence she had received. Being left alone was one thing she didn't want. Her voice began to crack over the lump that formed in her throat, "somebody?...Anybody?"

When there was no answer, she couldn't help herself. Switchblade's knees hit the floor, and she cupped a hand over her mouth—trying to quiet the sobs that no one was around to hear. Never in her life had she ever wanted her fathers more. Here she was, bound and chained to a wall in the dark. If Breakdown were here, he'd tell her to break out. To pull against the chains until they snapped, to squirm out of her restraints, and to smash through the doors. _Breaking out_...

 Switchblade wiped the coolant tears from her eyes and brought herself to her feet. She was a Decepticon...not some little sparkling. She could break out of here no problem. And if breaking a few chains was all it took so be it. She faced the wall the chains were bolted to, wrapped the links around her wrists once or twice, and pulled. Beneath her heels, she felt the concrete crack and the metal groan. If she couldn't break the chain, she might as well pull it from the wall. Switchblade wrapped the chain once more around her forearm and yanked back as hard as she could. The links gave one final creak before giving way. In a cloud of concrete dust, one of the chain links snapped—sending Switchblade sprawling backwards into the ground. She sat up in the rubble, holding her breath waiting for one of the Autobots to storm in and shoot her. But nothing happened. Switchblade looked down at the half broken chain—a smile gracing over her lips at the small victory. Unfortunately, her real obstacle was those two doors.

"When in doubt, kick it out," she whispered to herself.

She took a step forward and knocked on the outer, solid door with her knuckles. Surprisingly, it wasn't as thick as it looked. The bars, were another story. She out all her weight on her left foot, and just like Breakdown showed her, leaned back on her left her and brought her right leg up—sent her strongest kick at the metal. Her pede resounded with the impact, but she managed to leave a hefty dent in both doors. Switchblade aimed to kick again; all the weight on her back, left foot and raised her right—putting every last ounce of strength into it. Once more, her pede made sharp contact with the metal, and the pressure broke a small hole in the doors. There was most definitely a bruise on her leg, but that didn't matter to her right now. She approached the broken metal, gauging whether of not she could squeeze through or not. With some bending of the edges, it was soon big enough to where she could squeeze through with effort. Switchblade put her arms through first—finding out firsthand how hard it was to crawl with cuffs on. She managed to twist her shoulders through...however, the angle at which she had to pull her wings through warranted a few choice words. But once her wings were free, her legs slid through the opening easy enough and she flopped onto the floor like a fish.

_-Dad? Dad, can you guys hear me?-_

Static. No signal. Any comm signals were shielded. Switchblade wanted to cry again—but she couldn't now. Not when she could get out of here. She leaned on the wall as she slowly rose to her feet. If she could open the ground bridge, she might have a shot at leaving this place. The controls were archaic compared to what she was used to...and not too easy to work either.Alrighty...bridge log, recent coordinates...the Arctic! Aha! She set it to close automatically and pulled the lever. The green portal opened near her and she ran through the swirling door. Her pedes crunched on the snow, and she shivered slightly while the ground bridge closed behind her. She looked up at the familiar black shape in the sky—thankful it was the Nemesis—the large ray of fire shooting off the bow was something new though. She tried Knock Out's comm channel.

_-Dad? Dad, please tell me your picking this up!-_

_-Switchblade?! Oh thank Primus you’re alright! Where are you?!-_

_-I don't know. I used the Autobots' arrival coordinates-_ she picked up on the sound of clashing metal.

Just then, Breakdown tumbled out from behind one of the glaciers—Bulkhead running after him with his hand-mace ready to swing. Breakdown rolled out of the way, but the green Autobot never struck. Instead he stared in shock and awe at Switchblade, who was standing before them.

"Hey! How'd you—"

"Switchblade!" the blue bruiser was barreling towards his daughter, completely disregarding his rival behind him.

He scooped the young femme in his arms, worried optics darting over the chain, the restraints, and her mildly shivering frame; hugging her to his chest and running towards the warship—yelling through his comm for an emergency ground bridge to the medbay. Behind them, Bulkhead stared in confusion whilst Arcee tried running after the bruiser—blasters armed and firing; unable to make a clear shot as Breakdown wove back and forth

_-Knock Out! I got Switchblade. Meet us in the medbay stat!-_

The ground bridge opened in front of them and the bruiser almost tripped going through it. Low and behold, the red mech ran in just as they did and when he saw Switchblade in his sparkmate's arms, he ram up and wrapped his arms around her.

"Oh, sweetie, what have they done to you?" his optics caught onto the thin line of dried Energon that had trickled down from the point on her arm where the syringe had been injected, "what did they pump into you?!"

Switchblade eased herself out of Breakdown's arms, standing on the floor with a nauseous stance, "a sedative; a heavy one. Traichiogon, half a vile," her tanks rolled in protest and she held a hand in front of her mouth at the rising bile inching up her throat—pointing with her other hand at a drainpan on a cart.

Without hesitation, Knock Out caught on and passed her the pan just before she heaved up the contents of her tanks into it. Breakdown guided her to sit down on the edge of the table, putting a hand on her shoulder while the smaller mech helped her hold up the pan—seeing as how the cuffs she still wore were no help—and rubbed small circles on her back. It wasn't hard to see the anger swelling up inside him like a storm cloud as he stood up and paced the room...once more.

"Knock Out...I know that look," the bruiser was treading on a minefield, "getting mad won't help anybody. Least of all Switchblade," he added the last part quietly before stroking his thumb along her shoulder.

"Mad is an understatement. Livid... _livid is more accurate_! Look at her! Half a syringe, Breakdown, do you know how much that is? That's borderline overdose! Another ounce and she'd be comatose, or in shock, or all manner of medically horrid other things! Those scrap-brained Autobots could've killed her! How long was she even out? An hour? A day? The whole time? I don't know—I certainly have no idea! And how do I know they didn't have her on an IV of liquid shrapnel?"

"Dad... stop," Switchblade looked up from the pan—wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand—voice raspy and slightly exasperated, "they didn't do anything like that."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," he came over and wrapped his arms around her, "I'm sorry. Breakdown get me the sharp-welder I've going to cut these restraints off her."

Breakdown took the half-vomit-filled drain pan with him—disposing of its contents in the incinerator—while going off to find the tool. Switchblade sat quietly on the table, to exhausted to do anything but wait patiently. When she heard that welder ignite, she let out the most relieved sigh she had let out in a long time—barely even paying attention when she vaguely heard "...get her wings first...". She felt the brief heat from the thin flame before there was the clash of the restraint dropping off onto the floor and her wings finally relaxed freely. It took a moment for the seeker's wings to calibrate, but eventually they slouched outward of their own will. Her optic lids were drifting closed—blurring everything into one rained-out collage. A familiar red figure stepped into her view and once more she felt the brief heat from the torch before relishing in the clattering of chain and cuff on the floor. Absent-mindedly, she rolled her wrists before welcoming the large blue arms that scooped her up bridal-style and liltingly carried her into her quarters and set her down on the berth. It wasn't even a few seconds before Switchblade gave into the haunting cloud of drowsiness that was trailing her, and she fell asleep almost instantaneously. Knock Out held a hand in front of Breakdown to keep him in the room; the bruiser looked at him confused.

"What is it?"

Knock Out moved a gentle hand to Switchblade's forehead, frowning worriedly, "she's really warm. Break—"

"I'm sure she's fine. She just needs to rest for a while. C'mon, let's leave her be," he had to pull the red mech out of the room in order for him to leave before shutting the door quietly.


	3. Operation Breakdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay all, this is the chapter that i took several months on. Now i must say this was a very hard chapter to write. not only was it my first actual sex scene (i count it as my first because it is the first one i have publicly published) but also because it is a rape/non-con chapter, so if you are opposed to those, please i implore you not to read. This was a hard chapter to write because i, personally, have never experienced any of these, so i had no clue what on earth to do. Please feel free to constructively criticize me, i am open to anything you have to say. 
> 
> But please PLEASE do not read this chapter if you are in any way shape or form opposed to anything mentioned in the tags.
> 
> i am currently writing the next chapter and will have it up as soon as i can, until then...

When she woke up, she wasn’t quite certain how long she had been asleep. But she did feel a lot better; and however long she was asleep she had clearly slept off the effects of the sedative. Her wrists didn’t have the crick in them from the cuffs, and her wings certainly didn’t feel at all like they had been restrained. Switchblade stood off her berth slowly and stretched her arms behind her back until she heard a string of satisfying _pops_.

There two distinct voices beyond her door, Knock Out’s and Starscream’s. Her tank did a roll at the sound of the air commander’s voice. Of all the Cons on this entire warship and _he_ was the one she had to wake up to. But she was certain of one thing: the two were arguing. And quite heatedly at that. Her audials were still foggy from having just woken up, and when she tired stepping closer to listen in she stepped to close to the sensor. The door slid open and she froze in her place.

“Ah, Switchblade. How nice to see you awake,” Starscream greeted in his turpentine tone, “it must be pleasant to be away from those wretched Autobots. Tell me, did you happen to learn anything of interest while in their keep?”

Knock Out stared at him like a gaping fish—and just as speechless. Switchblade on the other hand, was rapidly growing more and more agitated with the slender mech. Why was it his place to ask her that? It was his fault she was captured, so why should he have any right to act as if she had simply been out for a stroll on the flight deck? She wanted to slap that shitty smile right off his shitty face plate.

Instead she ran a hand along her forearm and looked down at the floor, “Commander Starscream, I- yes, it is good to be home again. I mean—“

“Starscream, she’s been in recharge for a couple days now; maybe we should give her some time to get her bearings,” there was a force in that statement directed at Starscream that was hidden under a layer of simple suggestion.

“Mmm…very well, dear doctor.” The commander headed for the door, but paused under the archway, “Switchblade, when you’re feeling recovered, report to me in my quarters,” he added with an unsettling grin before stepping out.

Her plating prickled when he said that. Every time he spoke to her, her plating prickled. He was like the shadows that appear in the side of your vision; he only frightens her when he notices her. Knock Out stepped over to her and put his hands on her shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss into the top of her helm.

“I don’t know what I was thinking letting him in here. How are you feeling sweetspark? Any better than before?”

The young femme nodded and looked around the lab, “yeah. Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, he’s chasing after an Energon signal somewhere. He should be back soon, granted the Autobots don’t show up.” Knock Out gave a gentle sigh and moved over to the computer to work, “but they’re nothing he can’t handle.”

Except that wasn’t the case. Breakdown hadn’t called for a bridge, and he had been gone for hours; truth be told, both of them were getting worried.  Switchblade had gone for a brief flight just to clear out her engines and get some fresh air.

She missed the wind on her plating when she was in that cell, and her wings gladly relished in their freedom out in the open air. It was a perfect sky that morning, or at least over their location it was. There was barely a cloud for miles and it felt like she could fly straight up to the sun. But what she most enjoyed was the warmth of the air. It couldn’t have been more than seventy degrees up there, and the sunlight warmed her comfortably as she flew, while the winds that whipped over her kept her equally cool. _A better day I never wished to fly_ , she told herself as the flight deck came into view again.

She was hoping that when she came back, Breakdown would be back in the lab with Knock Out fussing over some little cut or scrape on his frame… But he wasn’t. As she walked down the corridors, the troopers gave her looks and side glances—leaning in and whispering into each other’s audials. Though she shrugged it off and pretended not to notice, deep down she wanted to know what was being passed around about her. Or her father for that matter.  The lab was empty when she got there, and she let her wings drop at the abrupt disappointment.

Switchblade stepped back out into the main corridor and caught a passing trooper by the arm. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Knock Out is would you?”

“Lord Megatron called the doctor to the bridge only a little bit ago.”

She let the trooper return to work and hurried up to the bridge at the fastest, most seemingly casual walk her pedes could manage. Everyone swapped her glances, and her cheeks felt hotter and hotter by the moment. The door slid open and she could feel her spark speed up in her chest as she stepped up the walkway. It seemed she wasn’t too late to whatever meeting was taking place, though the way Starscream looked behind his back at her made her feel as though it was something she had done.

“Starscream, tell young Switchblade what you have just told me. I’m sure she’ll want to hear it.” Megatron didn’t even turn around to acknowledge her.

“Yes…well, according to Soundwave’s surveillance footage, Breakdown has been captured,” he didn’t even give her a moment to react before curling his hands behind his back and giving a mock sigh before continuing, “by humans, nonetheless.”

The young femme was speechless—she didn’t realize her mouth was gaping until she tried to speak. She didn’t know what to say; half of her wanted to argue and lash out that no one was doing anything, but half of her wanted to shrink into a ball and beg that this wasn’t happening (but not on the bridge. She didn’t even begin to think about the ways Starscream would use that against her).

“But…you’re planning to stage a rescue? Right?” her optics darted between her superiors. Starscream maintained his poker face, whereas Megatron remained unmoved. But when she looked over at Knock Out, he turned away—and at that she swore she felt her spark hit the floor, “ _right?_ You-You can’t just leave him…”

“If Breakdown can be bested by mere humans, what makes you think he deserves a rescue?” finally the warlord turned to face her, “Breakdown is on his own.”

Her pedes moved against her will when she followed her father headed for the door, and she could feel the anger boiling up inside her. But what she did next was fully her own doing—however much she would later regret it.

“So you won’t even try? What good is a leader who refuses to look after those who serve him?!” But the moment the words left her throat she wanted to pull them back in and lock them away.

“ _Switchblade_ ,” Knock Out’s call was sharp behind her back, and she hung her head and wings low as she followed him out.

Vaguely she heard Starscream spluttering complaints about her insubordination to Megatron’s back before the door closed. She suddenly hated herself for that. She knew her father wouldn’t be mad—if anything he would probably agree with her—but Starscream on the other hand would be furious with her. He would slap her with those long talons of his, yell at her and call her a traitor in that shrill voice, then criticize her for being weak; calling her a useless waste of a Decepticon and nag that she should just might as well join the Autobots if she can’t find a way to prove her worth. Her helm hurt when she thought about it, and she rubbed at the base of her neck. It took everything she had not to let her wings droop.

…

Switchblade stood outside the door for a moment before knocking. She was still mad at Starscream for earlier on the bridge. Why, she didn’t quite know. But she was; which made seeing him all the more awkward. But eventually she built up the bearings to knock, and a moment later the door slid open. She stepped in and the air suddenly felt thick and warm. The door closed behind her and left the brief silence to mock her before the commander stepped out of the shadows to meet her.

“Ah, Switchblade how nice of you to drop by.”

“Uh, you asked me earlier to drop by. Y-You did tell me that, right?” she stared at the floor as he approached her.

“Yes, I did. Very observant of you…” he stepped behind her and ghosted a claw down her wing struts, smiling darkly when she shivered under his touch, “though I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“Oh, well, I can come back later if now doesn’t work—“ her back hit the wall hard, but when she tried to move, she found Starscream holding her hands over her head with a hand, “Commander, what are you—“

“Today, on the bridge, there was a fire, a resilience, about you. One which I very much like in a femme. Strong, hard-willed, adamant…” he rammed their lips together and forced his tongue between hers, “and young.”

Fear broiled in Switchblade’s mind, and she wanted to be sick. She hated the taste of his mouth; it was sour, and harsh, and uncaring. But he was stronger than her as he kept her pinned against the wall. The aerial commander took his free hand and ran a claw along the inside of her thigh, just below her interfacing panel, letting out a low, guttural whisper as she tried to squirm away from his sharp touch. Switchblade tried to scream, but the sound refused to come out of her throat.

“Oh my dear, don’t scream. We don’t want to ruin the moment now, do we?”

Before she could protest, his finger found the seam on her panel and flicked it aside. As the panel retracted, she felt tears begin to stream out of her eyes; and she choked on her own sobs as Starscream nuzzled at her cheek—his finger moving dangerously close to her now-exposed valve. He must’ve finally sensed her blatant fear, because for a moment, he stopped.

She felt his breath hot and wet against her cheek as he whispered into her audial, “Switchblade, honestly. I’ve had my optic on you since you came aboard this warship all those cycles ago. So willing, and so new…and so _innocent_ ,” the last word slithered out of his mouth like hot venom against her plating.

With that, he slid a digit up into her wet folds. Switchblade hiccupped on her cries as he grinned demonically at her. This sadistic spawn was actually enjoying himself. She could feel a second digit wriggle itself next to the first as they both ran around in her in unison. But these weren’t digits. No. They were talons. And talons cut and slice and shred—especially against struggling prey. That’s all she was now: prey.  For a split second, she felt herself calming down, as Starscream pulled his long claws from her valve. But the second was never meant to last; because he brought them up to her mouth and held her jaw between his fingers. His thumb clamped down onto her glossa and his other fingers under her chin held her in place as his piercing red optics burned through hers.

“Are you still as frightened as you were before?” he asked with a sickening smirk.

Switchblade didn’t answer. Instead she bit down hard on his digits. Hard enough to draw a tiny trickle of Energon.

“Why you little—!” He growled at her. Though her mind blanked for a moment, when she registered again, her cheek was stinging and only then did she realize he had slapped her.

There was a quiet _click_ in the room, and she looked down, only confirming her fears, when she saw the commander’s spike dropping from the place where his retracted panel had been. Switchblade felt bile creeping up from her tanks at the sight of it; it was larger then she thought—longer and thicker—and from her angle it looked aroused. Her spark raced and black pooled at the sides of her vision. After that nothing registered fully, like a dream she was watching someone else have for her. Though it felt distant, Switchblade felt the metal of the berth slam numbly against her front. Starscream’s long talons were still wrapped securely around her wrists and his other, now-unoccupied, hand went down to her small hips. A harsh chill snaked up her spine, and she drew in a sharp breath.

“…please don’t do this…” she pleaded into the berth. Though she doubted the mech heard her.

There was a pressure around her valve, one that she didn’t welcome…even though she knew what it was. The pressure moved up into her, and suddenly she had never felt such pain. She didn’t want to look down, she didn’t want to look at the horrid scene she was put into. But she fully knew what was happening. Slowly, the pressure of Starscream’s spike pulled out of her and—even if for a moment—she sank into the berth, relaxed, until she was alerted to the slow thrusting of his spike by a fresh wave of tears. Her audials were forced to listen to the sharp breaths of the commander as he moved in and out of her. Her wiring felt every second and every detail of it, from the unwelcome heat of his spike to the grasping of his hands on her hips.

She wasn’t paying attention anymore. Switchblade just wanted to zone out and die for all she cared. Her foremost thought was how close she was to passing out, to jump off the precipice of consciousness and be done for now. But even she couldn’t have that. Because, her valve grew felt, and overflowed, and sticky, and she didn’t have to look down to know what had happened. Starscream had exploded himself in her, and no amount of decontamination baths, or disinfecting scrubs would wash that out of her.

The commander stayed inside her for a moment, letting his spike pulse within her valve as he let himself calm down. His breathing evened out and his spike went limp eventually, until it pulled put of her. Once it was fully away from her, Starscream took his hand off her hips—but he let the end of each digit glide its way off her plates one by one.

And then there was nothing.

He left her lying on the berth when he was done having his way with her. Those were his true colors.

Off in his washroom, the light clicked on and the water of the shower turned on. Switchblade pushed herself off the berth and closed her interfacing panel. Her helm was fuzzy again, and she felt dizzy and lightheaded. She didn’t say a word as she stood and inspected herself before walking casually out of his room and down the hall to the lab; her EM field a turbulent mess.

For the first time today, she was happy to find the lab empty. But she saw her room and wanted to cry, to punch at a wall, to do _anything_ to let it out. She was frighteningly desensitized, and all she could do was tap a note out on the computer screen for her father saying where she would be if he returned and step into the shower of her own washroom. Her hands vaguely typed in the command for the sanitization shower and set the temperature at its hottest.

The hot cleaner burned at her plating, and at first she almost jumped at it. But something deep down in her couldn’t bring herself to change it. Like it was scalding away today, and its steam was evaporating what had happened. A moment later, she took the hand-held spout and slid away her interface panel. Switchblade wanted no physical reminder of today to stay as she sprayed the hot chemicals inside her; letting them scour her out, and wash every trace of Starscream down the drain. But deep inside she knew it would never be enough to clean it away. Even if she gutted herself out with a laser scalpel it would never be enough.

So she turned the shower off and let herself drop don’t to her knees, sobbing until she might as well have been out of tears. And then she sat, shivering and sniffing until she realized that that wouldn't help her. Pit be damned, she was a Decpticon. They weren't “fight or flight”, they were “fight or fight harder”. And if she learned anything from her fathers, it was how to fight.

 _Oh for Primus’ sake, who am_ I _kidding?_

For the first time in her life, Switchblade felt like nothing. Like just a blip in time. And it hurt her. It ripped at her spark chamber and singed through her processor until she wanted to be sick. She felt like a cheap pile of scrap taking up space. _And it hurt._

She took a deep breath—running her hands over her faceplates and back across the finials of her helm until she let them rest at the base of her neck—and picked herself up and dried herself off. As she stared at herself in the reflective metal that served as a mirror, she remembered the spot on the flight deck where she could and no one would find her. She used to sit up there for hours to be alone, and no one would find her unless she let them. The silence in the lab told her that she was free to go, so she erased her previous note and went.

…

The once pleasant day had turned dark. Black rain clouds clotted the sky, and warm, heavy, rain drops pelted the entire flight deck. Matching her mood like a mirror. So there she sat: curled in a ball, crying like a sparkling. Part of her wanted to stay here and sulk….but part of her wanted to walk down to that bridge and slap Starscream; to slap him and curse him and call him out for what he really was. But that would never happen. It was impossible—she’d get as far as the door before being detained by Vehicons.

A shiver ran up her back as the rain drops slid down her lowered wings, and she drew her arms tighter around herself. A clap of thunder snapped the air in half, making Switchblade jump. But, the lightning that followed flashed right by her, and for that she didn’t flinch. Then, a shadow appeared over her.

“Dear Switchblade, you'll catch a chill sitting out here like this.”

Her sparked skipped a beat before racing twice as fast. A gorge rose up in her throat, and suddenly the rain turned to ice on her plates.  

“Com…Commander…” In a split second she jumped back onto the deck, baring her blasters. She didn't give a second thought to it—commander or not—he deserved it. “Get away from me, you monster! If you take…one more step…”

Starscream put his hands up in mock surrender; though he never took the sly grin off his face. “Volatile, this evening, aren't we? Oh please, you won't shoot me. But I take it that you haven't heard?”

“H-Heard what?”

“I had to bring Breakdown back.” He noted her expression ease up and her blasters retract, “everybody’s talking about the work over those humans gave him. Hm, but the truly sad part? He was rescued by an Autobot. You two seem to be getting rather _familiar_ with th—Get back here! You cannot leave when a superior officer is talking to you! Switchblade, I order you to get back here now! Switchblade!”

But, that was all she needed to hear. Switchblade had long since turned on her heel and begun sprinting back to the lab. Her mind was running almost as fast as her. Work over? That could mean a hundred different things. Or Starscream was just over exaggerating to scare her again…he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Troopers jumped out of her way when she ran by, or moved when she yelled for them to. No one was getting in her way.

The door hissed open and she almost slipped running in. She grabbed the doorframe, panting, and looked across the lab to the table where Breakdown was laying tilted back on. Knock Out looked up from where he was working on Breakdown’s helm.

“Sweetie, for Primus’ sakes, you're soaking wet! And where have you been?!”

Breakdown propped himself on his elbow, and Switchblade couldn't hold in her gasp. She stared at the crude hole where his optic had once been and before she could blink he had his arms wrapped around her. She squeezed herself into his chassis and tried to take a deep breath.

“What happened? You were gone for so long, I thought…” her voice hiccupped in her throat, “I thought—“

“Well, that didn’t happen. And I’m back now.” The bruiser stroked a hand down his daughter’s back struts. “And they were just some crazy humans. MECH, they like calling themselves. But they turn tail and ran.”

“Breakdown, I know you don’t want to unravel my last two hours of work,” Knock Out added from across the room where he had changed the head on whatever medical tool he had been using, “Switchblade, grab me the patch kit from the cabinet and be my assist.”

Switchblade followed her father back over to the table, and began her assist. There wasn’t much to do, nor was there much to save. The only thing they could do was clean up the edges enough to put a patch on. But Switchblade felt numb through the entire thing; but not because it was a removed optic, not even because it was her father. She was numb for other reasons. Half of her wanted to just blurt out what had happened, but the other half wanted to never speak of it again. And she was beginning to favor the latter. Starscream was Megatron’s lieutenant, and anything she said, he could deny easily and have it end there. The whole thing was tearing her up inside.

Towards the end, a Vehicon entered the lab with a message for Switchblade. She was to report to the bridge immediately, per Lord Megatron’s orders. She looked up at Knock Out, who assured her he could finish what little there was left to do on his own, before excusing herself and following her escort. No attempt at conversation was made, it was just the sound of their footfalls. Finally, they reached the bridge and the Vehicon shut the door behind her after she entered.

Her Energon froze in her veins, as she stared towards the controls. Megatron was standing at the helm, with Starscream to the left, and Soundwave to the right. Switchblade concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, until she was a good eight feet from the warlord; as she bowed her head she tried not to let her voice quiver.

“Lord Megatron…you sent for me?”

“Yes. There were several of our troops who reported loud noises coming from Starscream’s quarters after having seen you go in. Many have begun to…speculate…on your activities with Commander Starscream.”

For a brief seconds, she caught Starscream tense and pale at Megatron’s accusation. Her mind grappled on what to say. If she confessed then surely something terrible would happen (either to her for accusing such a high-ranking officer of such a capital offense, to which then she would receive the punishment—or to Starscrem for such an offense, to which then he would turn his rage to her like he had always done. She lost either way.) Unless she lied. How much longer could she avoid telling someone about this? Eventually no one was going to believe her. But she felt the commander’s gaze on her.

“My lord, we were…we were arguing.” She felt her spark snap a little inside with that lie, “I was mad that no one was doing anything about my father, so I went to talk to him. It got a little loud. Though I see that my arguments have paid off now…”

Megatron looked as lough he wasn’t believing her, though he sent a side glance at Starscream. “Is this what happened?”

“Y-Yes, my liege, that is…a summary of it.” When he was sure Megatron wasn’t looking he shot Switchblade another look, “her points were _quite_ convincing.’

“Mmm, very well. Dismissed.”

Switchblade gave a short bow and quick-stepped out of the bridge, although she didn’t realize Starscream had followed her until he cornered her in the hall. Her voice caught in her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut, as if pretending that would make it all better.

“That was very good, Switchblade,” he stroked her cheek with a sharp digit. “ _I trust this_ _will be **our** little secret, _ yes?”

She nodded so hard her chin bounced off her chest, and she kept nodding until Starscream took his finger off her cheek and walked away. The young seeker waited until no one was around to hang her helm and cry once more.

_Dear Primus, what the hell have I done?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also this story has not been beta'd so if there are any grammatical errors then those are my fault and i apologize. 
> 
> Also: if you're curious about the second OFC, she will be introduced in later chapters, possibly the 6th if everything plays out how i think it will.


	4. Metal Attraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this actually took me less time that I expected (but it was still a long time; my apologies). This chapter is a bit of a roller coaster, but I hope it's not too terrible. I tried not to cram too much in, but at least it's done.

“Oh yes, you have gotten _rather good_ at this haven't you? Ah—ah, yes…” Starscream’s voice blended into a husky growl, and caught in his throat as Switchblade ran her hands against the sensitive plates of his wings.

Switchblade looked up from where she had been seated on the commander’s lap and tried not to shudder. Starscream had buried his face in her breastplates and nipped at the plating with his denta, his hands freely roaming around the back of the young femme—talons splaying themselves across the base of her own wings and combing upwards. She could have easily ignored the moment entirely if she hadn't been sitting with Starscream's nearly-flaccid spike still in her. Usually, having one’s wings touched so intimately was a pleasurable experience. One that emphasized the romantic bond between a Seeker and their partner. It was a secret shared only between two lovers, and kept between those two.

But this was not that.

This was not the sacred bond between two lovers. This was a hunter toying with his prey before taking his fill and leaving it to rot. His hands were not delicate and compassionate, they were cold and toxic. Each second they were on her they felt like poison eating away at her plates. His kisses and sharp nips felt like animal bites ripping away at her flesh. Every touch stung a thousand times more than the last.

The door of the supply room had been thoroughly locked, ensuring complete privacy. Breakdown had been called to the bridge to speak with Megatron, and she had told Knock Out she was going on a quick flight around the ship. But, that was where Starscream had caught her; she was almost to the flight deck when the commander had caught her by the arm and dragged her into the supply closet. But she had known what to do this time, since she had done it a few times before. He locked the door, and removed his interfacing panel to let Switchblade ease herself down upon his spike. She soon figured out how the older mech liked it; when she rolled her small hips against his, how adept she had gotten at touching his wings, and how she never made any noise when he used her. Why should she make noise? She was used to all this by now.

From beneath her, Starscream cleared his throat and gave her a slight push off him while he tucked himself away and cleaned up his plates. “Well…that’s all for now. Switchblade.”

“Commander,” she couldn’t say anything above a whisper, though she bowed her head a little.

The door shut behind him and she was alone in the darkness. The closet was still warm from the recent activity. Switchblade rose to her feet and replaced her interfacing panel, and gave herself a quick once-over, before looking at herself in the blank screen of a turned-off computer.

_How much longer can I keep this up?_

She took a breath to compose herself before stepping out of the closet and slowly heading back down the hallway to the lab. The rumors about her and Starscream had spread more and more each day. But why shouldn’t they? At this point they weren’t rumors…though no one needed to really know that. That aside, the troopers still gave her looks and side glances when she passed by. She didn’t care anymore. She was numb to all of that now. The time before last that Starscream had had her, it was in one of the hangars this time, she tried to defend herself—pulling out her blasters and threatening to tell Megatron the truth about him and what he was doing. But, all he did was slap her to the ground, pin her there under his foot, and call her “nothing but his half-useful bitch” before continuing.  She entered the lab, defeated and sore, with scratches all over her once-elegant black armor and simply said she had hit a flock of birds while flying.

The doors to the lab hissed open and closed behind her when she entered, though she could have cut the tension with a blade. Breakdown was in Knock Out’s and his bedroom, sitting on the berth, Knock Out behind him massaging his shoulder struts and pressing gentle kisses into his neck. They noticed her, and Breakdown patted the space on the berth next to him for her to join him. She stepped over delicately, and looked back and forth between the two mechs questioningly.

“What's going on? Anything important?” she asked, forgetting about sitting entirely.

Breakdown let out an angry sigh and rested his helm onto his hand, “yeah….Megatron thinks I'm some bumbling idiot now.”

“Pff. That's only because no one on this bucket is brave enough to let him loosen his bearings on them,” Knock Out muttered to himself and pulled a data-pad off a shelf. He quirked an optic ridge when he saw the screen light up. “Mm, Breakdown, there's a message for you. ‘Ground bridge deck in 10 minutes. Do not bother returning empty handed’. Well, gee, isn’t that pleasant?”

The bruiser picked his head up and stood off the berth and absentmindedly tapped the door command. He turned around and gave Knock Out a quick peck on the lips before noticing Switchblade hugging her arms together and shrinking into herself on the berth. It was the dropping wings that gave her away. He lifted his hand away from the control panel and the both of them returned to the berth where their daughter was. Knock Out sat down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder—giving in to the old habit of kissing the top of her helm.

Breakdown wrapped a thickly plated arm around Switchblade and pulled her into his chassis and squeezed her into a hug. He stole the smaller mech’s question almost immediately. “Sweetie? Is something up?”

“What? No, no. Everything's fine. It's just….” She would never tell them what it really was. But she knew exactly what: whenever Breakdown wasn't around it was a quintessential Get Out Of Jail Free card for Starscream. The bruiser was who really scared him, and why she tended never to leave the lab if she could. “I think I just pushed a little too hard on that last flight. I'm tired is all. Promise.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Are you sure you don’t want me to run the scanner over you?” Knock Out asked, his tone carried enough concern to almost hide the suspicion. Almost.

“Yes, I’m sure,” was her simple and final response.

The medic let out a slow sigh and looked back to his mate for brief moment before returning his attention. “Alright. But, Breakdown, be careful out there. I can only patch one of your eyes. ”

Switchblade followed after the bruiser, but only until she turned off into her own room.

…

“Knock Out! Hey, you here? I, uh…..well, I guess I got something I gotta get off my back.”

The spider-femme had been attached to him for far too long, and she was not only extremely annoying, but much to prying. And she loved hearing herself talk. That stupid Polarity Gauntlet…he swore that if he ever got his hands on it, he’d crush it into a billion pieces.

“Oh, my Breakdown. How far you’ve fallen; not one for depth perception, not one for looks, not even one for humor—“Airachnid jeered before being cut off by approaching footsteps.

Switchblade emerged from behind a wall, oblivious to the “insect” attached to Breakdown’s back. She mentioned Knock Out being on patrol, and asked what had kept the bruiser from returning. And then she paused. “I swore I heard someone else’s voice. Like, another femme.”

Airachnid stretched a hand into the air with a quiet laugh. “That would be me. Oh—might you be Switchblade? I’ve heard tell of you.”

Switchblade stepped around back of Breakdown to look at Airachnid, shocked as she was by the unexpected guest. “What have you heard..?” She asked, cautiously, as though she didn’t already know. It wouldn’t surprise her if this spider-bot knew about her and Starscream—it wouldn’t surprise her if _every_ Decepticon knew of her and Starscream.

“Oh you know. This. That. But my real curiosities lie in whether or not you can…unhitch…Breakdown and I.”

The seeker scratched at the base of her neck and eyed the magnetic attachment carefully. It was a piece of cake, really. All she had to do was hook them up to an EM amplifier and recreate the frequency of the Polarity Gauntlet and _voila_. It was a lot of technical jargon for something so simple. But, yeah, she could do it. Though part of her didn’t want to. Airachnid was infamous for her supreme gossiping abilities. If she got her claws on the rumors about Switchblade and Starscream…well, a rumor can only spread so much among so many before it reached Megatron. And once he heard—Switchblade shook the thought from her mind.

Switchblade almost rolled her eyes and walked into the storage closet to find the amplifier. “I could do this in my sleep. I'll be right back…don't move.”

Breakdown irritably tapped his foot on the floor, just as Airachnid began her useless prattling for the umpteenth time. He was going to bore his skull out if Switchblade didn’t do something about that spider soon. But finally she emerged from the shadows, pushing a good-sized generator on a cart with several jumper-esque cables dangling off of it. She pressed a button on the controls with what was probably moor force than necessary, and let it boot itself up. She attached the cables securely to the pair; attaching the positive cables to Breakdown’s back, and attaching the negative cables to the only exposed places of Airachnid’s back. The generator beeped and the young Seeker returned to the controls, and began turning a dial on the screen.

“This shouldn’t hurt.” She added quickly, and turned the dial to its maximum. When it clicked, she flipped a switch next to it.

The electricity jumped across the cables and cracked sharply. After a few seconds, Switchblade flipped the switch back to its original position and began turning down the dial. After a quick while, the electricity eased itself off. Breakdown was already stretching his arms every which way, and knuckling he back where the other femme had been stuck—when he finally popped his back struts, he let out a satisfied “aah”. Meanwhile, Airachnid was picking herself up from where she had landed on the floor. The scowl on her face told Switchblade that she didn't enjoy being dropped on the ground, but the spider was grateful nonetheless.

“Finally! Breakdown as much as I _love_ your company, a girl needs her space. And, Switchblade, I must say, you're not at all what I expected.” There it was: that sly sneer that made Airachnid infamous. It was the one-sided smile she flashed before pulling out her silver tongue and manipulating everybody with it, “for one, you're such a good little femme. Much, much different than from what I heard.”

Switchblade froze mid-step. Her spark skipped a beat in her chest and she turned around from where she had been returning the generator. She knew _exactly_ what Airachnid had heard; though her best attempt at playing dumb sounded overly forced. “Wh-what do you mean? Was someone spreading something over the comms? I can't imagine why…”

The other femme had to hide a giggle behind her hand, “you mean you really haven't heard? They're all saying the same thing. That you and Starscream have been swapping paint in his office and in the storage rooms. And apparently—”

Switchblade’s hands had flow up around her face, trying to hide the incomprehensible number of emotions trying to share her expression. _She knows….oh Primus, she knows! Why the fuck should I care about her?! **Every** Decepticon anywhere probably knows!_

Breakdown stomped a heavy pede on the floor between the two. The floor reverberated his rage. “Shut up! Nothing gives you any right to talk like that, fragger!”

“Oh but Breakdown, I haven't even gotten to the good part.” Her voice dripped off her tongue like sweetened poison, “the troopers have made names for you. There's so many I can barely keep track, mind you, but I have a couple favorites. ‘Spike Seeker’ is interesting but not the best. However, ‘Lapdog from the Pit’ has an exotic sound to it. But, if you ask me, I like ‘Starscream’s Slut’ sounds the best. So simple and to the point. It's quite—“

Breakdown threw her onto the ground before she could finish and hurried his gaze over to his daughter.  Switchblade had given up on maintaining her composure and was now too busy focusing on simply standing up. Breakdown knew now, which meant Knock Out would. Her life was ruined now. And all because of Starscream and his sadistic lust.

“Sweetie….” The young Seeker had never heard her father’s voice sound so hurt, “is all this true? Are you and the Commander—“

“I-I didn't want it too. He just….I promise, Dad, I don't love him. But, he keeps insisting! I hate it! I hate every moment I have to be with him! If I don’t he’ll… _I swear, none of this is my fault!”_

Switchblade didn't know she was running out the door until she was already down the corridor; nor did she realize Breakdown was shouting until she couldn't hear him. Airachnid had let her secret out, and there was no going back. She didn't feel her spark pounding in her chest, and she could have cared less about that trooper she had just shoved into the wall. But now she had to leave the ship. She _wanted_ to leave this damned thing all her life. And it seemed that now she had no choice. It was only a matter of moments that son every trooper and officer on this flying wasteland would know about her, that their rumors were fact, and that she was nothing more to their Commanding Officer than a lapdog with plating.

In her hurry, she turned down the wrong corridor. When the door closed behind her, Switchblade maintained her gaze at the floor and clenched her fists at her side to let out a little—if any—of her tension. She took a step forward into, what was supposed to be the flight deck, but instead she walked into someone. A very tall, thin someone.

“Watch whe—Switchblade?” The confusion in his voice almost immediately leveled itself out, “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. Is there something you needed so desperately that you had to come barreling in here for it?”

Her mind went blank, and all the younger femme did was stare wide-eyed up at Starscream’s partially irritated expression.

“Well, don’t just stand there gaping. What do you want?”

Switchblade backed into the wall and looked around the room. She was trying to speak, but her voice kept wanting to jump back down her throat. “I need to leave…please…Airachnid’s here, and she told my—she told Breakdown about _this. About us._ She heard it on the radio. _Everyone knows_.”

Even in the dim light, she could see Starscream turning red. His apparent anger washed away, and then he was standing straight up and stroking a long talon down the side of her cheek, “I can deal with the…talk. But if you must run away, at least let me have—“

Switchblade found her voice, and she found it infuriated. “Damn it, Starscream, I’m not your sex drone! I didn’t come here to give you one last frag before jumping ship. I walked in here thinking it was the flight deck. I could give a scraplet’s ass less about you!”

Starscream’s optics were a deep red—deeper than usual. And she knew what that meant more than anything in this world. Before Switchblade could shove him away, he had slid his panel away, and let his spike fall into the empty space. And then she had done it. Had she wanted to? Yes, many, many times yes. But she would never had dared. But, she did it then. A thin black-plated hand reached up and slapped Starscream hard across the cheek—hard enough to let him stagger back a step of two.

Then the lusting deep red of his optics was replaced by a raging scarlet.

The commander wrapped one hand around her thin neck, and the other latched onto her shoulder. He growled furiously as he rammed her into the metal of the door. He gritted something under his breath as he pressed her into the door—something about no one caring enough to look for her. Starscream reeled and threw her against the door again, so hard this time that one of the seams gave and it broke open. She and Starscream followed it in a twisting heap out into the corridor, until the commander slammed against the opposite wall. His talons had released from her neck, and one of them clamped onto the femme’s wrists and tried to pull her down onto him.

He yanked her face against his and hissed into her ear—his strained voice was boiling venom. “You little scrap—“

A squad of troopers called out and raced up the corridor, but it was too late. Switchblade had stood up and was too busy squirming in the commander’s grasp to notice the very large crowd they’d drawn. Troopers were gathering around them, whispering amongst each other, pointing and murmuring about this spectacle. Only then did she notice the true problem. Starscream's spike falling out of his absent panel, splaying itself flaccidly across the inside of his thigh. Switchblade could feel her faceplates growing hotter and hotter. In her embarrassment and focusing on Starscream, she had failed to realize her panel was gone as well—her valve visible to everyone. She wasn’t aware of this at all until a trooper to her right cleared his throat and pointed it out to her.

“ _Starscream! You spawn of a glitch! This is all your fault!_ ” When she screamed, she slammed a heel strut into the commander’s chest plates, jamming harder and harder into his metal until finally he let go of her—though the stark imprint of the bottom of her pedes remained behind.

She slapped her panel shut and sprinted for the flight deck, shoving troopers out of her way until she was free. Switchblade had no idea if she was being followed or not, her spark was beating so fast it was all she could hear. Finally she ran onto the empty deck and immediately transformed and took off.  She had no plans, nor course of action, but only a stupid idea she was willing to try. Switchblade turned off her comms and flew in silence. If she could cry in her alt mode, she surely would have.

...

The wind whipped across Switchblade’s plating as she flew. If she could cry in her alt mode, then surely she would be. She almost couldn’t believe what she’d done. Surely a patrol would be after her in no time—Megatron had no patience for loose ends, and she was completely frayed. And why had she even said that? Now the rumor of her running scared to the Autobots would spread and the entire warship would think her not only Starscream’s pet whore, but also an over-scared traitor. She had said it, yes. But whether or not she had meant it was another ordeal. The Autobots had been much nicer to her as a prisoner than half the Decepticon ranks had been too her as a superior. Maybe there actually was the smallest possible chance that her convoluted escape would work.

Below her, she could see a large clearing, though snow covered as it was. Switchblade landed softly, letting the snow settle below her before she transformed. Immediately, she was met with the cold and almost regretted picking this spot. But it was the only clearing she had seen since leaving the ship. Sending the distress signal was the easy part. The hard part was getting the reply. So, she pulled the transmitter from her subspace, and calibrated the frequencies. There were a million different multitudes of failures this could result in…though she tried not to think about them as she typed;

_“In need of help. Come to these coordinates. Here alone. Only wish to talk._

_\--Switchblade”_

Once the message sent, all she could do was wait. A chill wind blew over her, and she hugged her arms to her chest. All the ways of failure unintentionally came back into her head again. What if the message never actually reached them? What if they got it but ignored it? What if Megatron found her before the Autobots could? Or what if they both got there at the same time and the Autobots just left her with Megatron? What if…what if…what if…a thousand what if’s. Before she realized it, she was suddenly pacing back and forth. She didn’t even know how long it had been since sending that message. And then she stopped pacing and stood there in the snow. What if neither side cared and just let her freeze out here?

But, at least half her fears were shushed when a ground bridge opened across the field. She stared at it for a moment before relaxing a little when she saw three Autobots step out. Optimus Prime came out first, his gait casual yet also guarded; Arcee followed him, stance rigid and blasters bared; and finally Ratchet, unarmed and cautious.

It was Optimus who first spoke, “we received your message, Switchblade. We have no intention of harming you, so long as you do the same.”

The young Seeker put her hands in the air for a brief second before dropping them at her side... “I…I can’t go back to the warship. I ran away. Aside from my fathers, to everyone else I’m just a waste. And the things Starscream does…” she had never expected to get this far and was running out of things to say, but saying the whole truth would be too much. “…they make him no better.”

None of the Autobots looked moved. In fact if anything they looked like she had just called them here to waste their time. What if she couldn’t put up enough of a good plea and wound up back where she started? No matter what, she couldn’t let that happen. There was no way, in this life or any other, she wanted to go back to the Nemesis.

Arcee changed a blaster back into her hand and set it on her hip. “So…what are you trying to say? You just up and left the ‘Cons and to join us?”

Switchblade only nodded; and she pretended not to hear the other femme’s irritated sigh. Though, deep down, she didn’t blame her. They had no reasons or grounds to trust her. Hell, for all they knew this was a trap. The young Seeker found herself looking down at her pedes, twiddling her thumbs like a dunce. Until something within her snapped. Something rebellious and angry. Why should she be scared of these guys? She had come here with peaceful intentions—wanting no more than to talk—and anything hostile was a result of their actions. This wasn’t a standoff, it was a peace talk. Switchblade felt matching irritation rise up in her. She let it out, but she meant it free of any ill will.

“Look. I’m not asking for any special treatment. For all I care, you can shove me back in that stupid cell. But I am _not. Going back. To that warship,”_ point having been made, she dropped her force, “I’d rather be an Autobot prisoner, than a Decepticon berth-warmer.”

Three emotions crushed down on her, each from a different Autobot, and she knew she had said too much. The other two she couldn't figure out, but she knew Arcee’s to be disbelief and irritation—though something in the blue femme’s tough expression gave away the tiniest hint of…was that pity? It wasn’t a surprise to Switchblade, given the history Arcee shared with Starscream (it was no surprise to anyone really, the way he bragged about killing Cliffjumper like it happened only the day before). A cold wind blew over her and she tried not to shiver. The silence was think with apprehension, and it was really only then that the young Seeker realized that she was harsh with her words...

“Please.” It came out as more of a plea than a question, “I don’t want to go back there.”

Finally, the weapons were lowered, and it was Ratchet who finally spoke—much to everyone's surprise—in Switchblade’s favor. At first it startled her, but then she remembered suddenly. The old medic’s face when he had drugged her. It was almost…apologetic, in a way.

“Optimus, think how useful she could be. Think of the _Deception intel_ she could know.” Once his point was made, he couldn't help but ease down his tone from the seriousness that it was. “This may be the only chance we'll ever have at this kind of opportunity.”

Several sets of optics flashed over to the young Seeker, though she pretended not to notice. Another brief silence stretched through the atmosphere. The Autobots exchanged looks between each other, and though they physically said nothing, their optics spoke hundreds of words for them. Each tiny flicker was an argument all itself, and each blink an answer that would change the entire course of Switchblade’s life. After a few more seconds, Optimus stepped forward past the other two and looked down at Switchblade. She was trying to appear strong—standing up as straight as she could and squaring her shoulders in an effort to make herself seem taller. The Autobot commander was considerably taller than her, and the shadow he cast over her made her feel like a tiny sparkling again. The microscopic moment between the time he approached her and the time he spoke seemed like the longest moment in her life.

“Switchblade, I have often hoped for the day that Megatron’s forces will leave his tyranny and fight against him in the name of good. While it may not be happening anytime soon, once in a while, one Cybertronian will find it within themselves to rise above his cause.  We have decided here today, to accept you into our team.” The Prime paused long enough to let the black femme release the baited breath she had been holding for so long, “but know this: you are to be on…on a probation of sorts…before any of us will be able to trust you fully.”

“I don’t care about that! By the Pit, you can tie me to the ceiling if you want to, I’m just…” she wiped a tear she didn’t realize was there from the corner of her eye, and tried not to act like some teary eyed damsel-in-distress, “I’m just glad I don’t have to go back.”

Ratchet set his hands on his hips and gave the slightest roll of his optics. “Well, don’t get too excited just yet. I’ll be running some tests on you when we get back to base. All standard procedure, I assure you—mostly for safety reasons.”

Switchblade vaguely nodded, and went back to hugging her arms around herself and swapped her gaze between the old medic and Arcee, who was busying herself with calling for a return ground bridge, and side-glancing at the young Seeker every few seconds. But finally, a ground bridge did appear, and Ratchet went through it first. Switchblade went second, with Arcee and Optimus very close behind.

When they arrived through, the humans she had seen last time were nowhere in sight, and the young Seeker didn’t know why that made her feel better. Ratchet led her off into a small room with nothing in it but a make-shift examination table. He assured her it was for private examinations and that he would be as quick as possible.

Switchblade knew the procedure of laying down and letting the table be moved to wherever was comfortable for the second party. Nothing out of the ordinary. The older medic ran a basic scanner over her, poked this, ran a hand along that, told her to move her wings this way and that way, flex this, relax that. Finally he reclined the table and let her go.

“Arcee will show you where you’ll be staying.” He concluded with, quietly.

The blue femme led her silently down a hallway of doors—one of which she recognized by the large metal patchwork over an obvious hole—until they reached the last one. Arcee hit a button on the wall and the sliding door creaked apart. The room was larger than the cell she was given last time she was here, not that much bigger, but enough to be comfortable. There were two berths across from each other, and some bare shelves between them.

Switchblade spun around and looked at Arcee confused, “are you and I—“

“Sharing a room? No. I bunk with Bee across the hall. I guess you could say this is our guest room.” The femme turned on her heel and walked a step or two before stopping. “Oh, just give the other berth to Wheeljack if he’s here; he pops by every now and then.” Arcee turned again and disappeared down the hall.

Switchblade sat on the berth to the left and looked around the room. It was just like her quarters on the Nemesis. Bare. She found a cabinet by the door that held some thermal blankets; but aside from those, there was no sign anyone had every lived in the room. But there was no Starscream, at least.

And in that way, she was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was also un-beta'd so any mistakes are mine and i apologize for them. Also: everything is going perfectly on schedule so by the next chapter i'll finally be introducing that second OFC.


	5. Rock Bottom Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this got long. So, to avoid a hideously long chapter, I just split it into two parts. And for all of you (wherever you may be) who have been desperately awaiting the arrival of my second OFC, then your wait is over, and a link for the art--which actually surprised me at how un-terrible it is--will be posted at the bottom of the chapter.
> 
> Funny story about the art for her: i drew her...but the redrew her. Both pictures are posted on my DeviantArt, but the link in the story will be the one for the redrawn art. 
> 
> ALSO, since we're on the topic of art: I redrew my main OC, Switchblade, and i will post a link for that as well.

“Bulkhead. Can I talk to you?”

Out of all of the Autobots, Switchblade found the Wrecker one of the easiest to converse with; he never gave her any hard looks at least. And his human was always talking to her—asking her a plethora of questions about anything from flying to her weapons to having Breakdown as a father. The other humans had been advised to keep their distances, but they didn’t much care. They followed the girl around, but asked a lot less questions. After her first few days there, she had asked to have her insignia removed—feeling an odd satisfaction when she was told she wouldn't be getting an Autobot insignia yet—and it felt better than she thought to no longer be a Decepticon. But she wasn’t exactly an Autobot yet either, likewise she didn't consider herself neutral either.  Switchblade hadn’t been allowed to leave the base since she had arrived there; normally she wouldn't mind being inside, though an underground missile silo was very different from that if a warship. Optimus had asked her about everything she knew of the Decpeticon agenda, which wasn’t much anyways. Megatron trusted her about as much as much as he liked her, and Starscream even less so. Regardless, she had told the Prime everything she knew.

Bulkhead was standing behind a scaffolding, watching the children play the racing game they did so often, but when Switchblade spoke up, he casually turned his attention. “Sure. What’s up?”

Switchblade led him off to the side for some privacy, not failing to notice the side glance it warranted from Arcee. “I wanted to thank you. For getting my carrier—for getting Breakdown—away from M.E.C.H. You saved his life, and I owe—“

Bulkhead held his hands up to stop her, “whoa whoa whoa, that’s plenty, kid. I don’t need anyone owing me anything. I get to pound Breakdown into scrap again and—uh, right…um, it was no problem.”

The Seeker held her hand up to hide her tiny giggle. She flashed him one more smile before walking back to where she had been sitting, “but, thank you, anyways.”

She sat back down on the box in the corner where she had been previously. It was tucked away behind a wall and hidden enough so that she could have a small amount of privacy. After a short sigh, she ran a hand through the finials on her helm and picked up the datapad from her seat. The youngest of the humans—Raf, if she remembered—had offered to upload translated copies of some books for her. Admittedly, at first the idea seemed odd to her. Here she was, a Decepticon defector, and then there was this young human boy who was going to take his time to give her something. It took a few moments to register in Switchblade’s mind, but eventually, she agreed. It was awkward at first, mostly because she had to provide him with the codes to enable the upload, and also because she really hadn’t planned on someone doing something nice for her this soon. But afterwards, she gave the young boy the first sincere smile she’d given in a long time, and thanked him before returning to her corner.

Behind her, her wings twitched anxiously and Switchblade ran a hand along the struts sluggishly. She hadn’t been allowed to go anywhere, which meant she hadn’t been allowed to fly. Just once, she would love to be up in the air again, even if it was just for a second. Her wings were growing stiff, and the small base was beginning to feel crowded and stuffy. While she hadn’t expected to be living a new life of enthralling adventures and glorious escapades, she by no means had pictured it being so boorish. At this point, she would be happy if they just asked her stack boxes. When she tried convincing Ratchet she could help him with medical matters, he simply waved her away.

Until suddenly, her pining was broken by the blaring of one of the various alarms. Switchblade stood up and followed the others at crowding around the monitor, though still staying behind everyone. The last thing she wanted was to be in anyone’s way. A blinking Autobot insignia was flashing across a flat plane somewhere on a topographic map.

Optimus immediately radioed the signal, asking for the proper identification and origin. The room immediately tensed at the silence they were met with when the line switched. Everyone was staring at the screen like something was going to jump out at them.

“Hey now, don’t be givin’ me any of that military scrap. I’ve landed on asteroids with more life in ‘em than that.” It was a femme’s voice, though the accent made her sound more masculine. Regardless, a small image came up next to the accompanying voice print, and she was different from any femme Switchblade had ever met.

To everyone’s surprise, it was Arcee that spoke up in recognition. “Sky Rider, that can’t be you. It’s been forever.”

“Aww, Cee, don’t be like that. You missed me. But hey, I know you and Prime’s lot are stationed on this pebble, so be the dear I know you ain’ and help a Fiver out, huh?”

Switchblade leaned over to the bot nearest her, who just so happened to be Bumblebee. She whispered a quiet, “what’s a ‘Fiver’?”

{Arcee’s unit during the war}, He explained, simply. {Scouting Unit number 555. Some of the best soldiers on Cybertron.}

Switchblade let out a small “ah” and redirected her attention back to the screen. Ratchet took over the communications, and sent the coordinates of where a retrieval party would meet up with her. That was when Switchblade returned to where she was sitting. They were getting a new member, and soon Switchblade could go back to being simply a shadow in the corner. She liked not being the center of attention like she had been at first, and it was nice being able to simply sit alone with her thoughts. Although, not having anyone to talk to was going to start driving her insane if it persisted.

Eventually, Arcee left with Bumblebee to rendezvous with Sky Rider, and Switchblade remained where she sat. From the corner of her eye, she could see Ratchet walking over to her holding a small container of something. Her suspicions piqued, and died off as immediately as they had risen, when he finally spoke.

“You said you had a small amount of medical knowledge, correct?” He handed her the container, and watched her eyeing its contents.

The question was blunt, and the young femme swore she detected the tiniest hint of pity in it. If the old medic was simply trying to make her feel less ignored, then she would have to admit that his empathy was working. However, if he was truly seeking a second opinion, then at least she could try and be useful. She looked at the greyish-blue liquid carefully and shrugged.

“An enhancement supplement added to regular Energon,” she handed the container back and arched an optic ridge, “what’s it for?”

 Ratchet hesitated for a moment, “faster recovery, I suppose. But, so far it’s just a hunch.”

The medic was already walking away when she responded. “Good luck…with your hunch, I mean,” she spoke to his back—though she genuinely meant it—and got a passive wave for her efforts.

When Arcee and Bumblebee walked back in through their ground bridge, no one knew quite exactly what to expect from this new arrival. Although—if she had to be honest—Switchblade was expecting some sort of gladiatorial femme to step through; she almost laughed to herself when she thought some huge, heavily armored champion to walk into the base. She had never really met any other femmes, and the ones she did were all either Decpticons or Decepticon prisoners. She had never spoken to any of them, though. She had no idea what to think when a small femme walked in—her arm slung around Arcee’s shoulders and the pair of them laughing and smiling as if no time had passed at all.

She was about the same height as Arcee, but the similarities stopped there. Her plating was a slivery gray that almost glittered in the silo’s floodlights, with small hints of black detailing throughout. The absence of any wings made it clear that she was a grounder, although her frame was remarkably similar to that of a Seeker. Her heel struts came down into a pointed stiletto that very nearly reminded Switchblade of Starscream. The new femme had a blue bikini-shaped piece of plating hanging high on her waist with a matching pair of narrow blue tassets resting over her thighs. Black shoulder flares covered her shoulders  from where they jutted from her silvery neck. Her helm was the same silvery gray as the rest of her platies, though with a few blue finials stretching around it. Where her optics should have been, there was only a pale blue visor.

But it was the way she walked—the way she carried herself—that made Switchblade focus on her. This new femme carried herself with the same fire in her she had seen Knock Out walk with. It was a fire and an energy that she had—the air about her telling everyone in a ten block radius “Don’t fuck with me”. Switchblade caught herself staring and hastily looked down at the floor. But she could feel the other femme’s EM field and the strength in it made her seem like she was invincible.

“Everyone, this is Sky Rider.”

Sky Rider gave a one sided smile and a cocky laugh. “So…this is the lot s’been keepin’ Megatron up at night? You really are scrapped, Cee.”

“What can I say?” Arcee shrugged as she stepped back over to stand between Bumblebee and Bulkhead. For once she was glad Optimus wasn’t around to meet their newest guest, since the introduction of Wheeljack, the Prime was even more conscious of new arrivals. “We like challenges.”

Switchblade suddenly was glad her black plating allowed her to blend into the shadows. Likewise, she was glad when Arcee began the introductions, and skipped over her. The sigh she let out was just quiet enough to go unnoticed, as she balanced her datapad on her knee in an attempt to shift in her seat. Unfortunately, the pad betrayed her trust in its balance and toppled off her knee, clattering on the floor. The entirety of the room turned their gaze over to the general area of where she had been and stared critically. Realizing they couldn’t actually see her, she stood up from where she had frozen and stepped out into the light.

A bland “whossat” was all she warranted from Sky Rider.

Switchblade could feel the blush rising in her cheeks when Arcee spoke for her. “That’s Switchblade. She’s….well…it’s a little complicated. But she’s a guest here, for now.”

“Now, you being here wouldn’t have anything to do with this thing between a Switchblade and Starscream would it? I’ve heard nothing but talk ‘bout the two of them. Well, last I heard, though, it went tits up an’ that femme up ‘n’ went A.W.O.L.,” her tone let up when she saw Switchblade set her jaw. “Or s’that not you?”

“You’ve heard about that?” It came out of the young Seeker just as disheartened as she was.

“Everyone with a radio’s heard about that, love.”

Switchblade’s question had answered for her. And Sky Rider’s confirmation that she had picked up on—what had now apparently becoming the forefront of any and all radio chatter—had not helped Switchblade’s situation at all. Oddly enough, she had become accustomed to random bots confronting her about it, to the point where—while she still hated it with every part of her—she was almost used to it. The unfortunate irony of it all being that everyone she didn’t want to know about her and the Commander already knew, and those she had desperately wanted to tell had only just discovered it.

Realizing she had made herself the center of attention, she picked up her datapad and silently made her way to her room.

Switchblade sat down on the edge of her berth, running her hands over the finials on her helm, and counting her breaths. Knock Out had taught her to do that whenever she needed it. He had done it after her first time launching from the Nemesis. She had taken off from the flight deck like it was nothing, but soon she had lost herself in a cloud bank. Megatron forbade anyone going after her, and told her that she had to find her way back on her own and prove her worth. Not that that helped her any. After a flying back and forth in circles for an hour and a half, she finally had a visual on the ship. When she landed, she was practically hyperventilating where she stood, so Knock Out made her count her breaths to calm her down. In for four, out for four; it was just something small that had stuck with her.

The memory made hot tears begin to form in her eyes, and Switchblade made herself swallow around the lump in her throat. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get over the fact that she had just _left them_. Guilt boiled under her plating and she brought her pedes up on the berth so she could hug her knees. Pointless what-ifs immediately flooded through her mind.  _What if she had told them about Starscream? What if they think she hates them? What if they don’t even care? What if she told Megatron the truth and he believed her? What if—_

“Hey.”

The sudden voice stopped her, and she looked up from her knees. Sky Rider was leaning against the doorframe—one hand on her hip.

“S’this your room? M’told I’m bunking it with you…since you got a free berth an’ all.”

Switchblade took her pedes off the berth and rubbed at her eyes until she didn’t feel that any tears were left behind, “yeah. Help yourself.”

When Sky Rider had her back to the younger Seeker, Switchblade pulled a tiny holodisc from her subspace, and clicked it on. It was an old picture; one of Knock Out and Breakdown and her when she was a newborn. Breakdown held her, asleep, in his arms and Knock Out was leaning on Breakdown’s shoulder—the two of them smiling happily. Knock Out’s arm took up the top corner of the frame, but she loved it regardless. It was the only picture she had of them all together, and she carried it with her all the time.

The lump in her throat came back, and the tears from before came back too. But something in the back of her mind told her not to cry.

For the second time, Sky Rider managed to break through her thoughts. “You miss ‘em don’tcha? Your parents, I mean.”

Switchblade looked back and forth between the picture and the other femme. She nodded softly and returned the holodisc to her subspace.

Sky Rider sat down on her own berth and scratched at the back of her neck, “I know how you feel. Well…kinda, I guess. I lost my parents when I was ‘prolly ‘bout a lil’ younger than you. Loan sharks, an’ their lot.”

The Seeker brought her gaze up to meet Sky Rider’s visor. “I’m sorry, Sky Rider. That must’ve been hard,” she mumbled just barely loud enough.

“Hah! Don’ bother with all that. Got ‘nuff of it back then,” the white and blue femme stood off the berth, now smiling like nothing had happened, “an’ hey…don’t worry about Cee. She’s got one tough shell around her, but eventually she’ll warm up to ya. Trust me—when I first met her, she gave me the cold shoulder so long I thought my optics would ice over!”

There was a knock on the door that made the both of them jump. It was Arcee this time (Sky Rider whispered a small “Speak of the Fallen, amiright?” under her breath), and once she had made her presence known, she turned her attention to Switchblade.

“Optimus wants you to come with me and Bulkhead. We got an Energon signal from an old Decepticon mine, and he thinks you’ll be helpful.”

Switchblade gave a silent nod and rose off the berth, awaiting further instruction. A part of her wanted to burst into a litany of gratitude for being finally allowed out of the base, but the better side of her kept her standing still.

“An’ what ‘bout me?” Sky Rider turned a playful smile to her old friend and crossed her arms nonchalantly, “I jus’ got here, an’ already you’re blowin’ me off. That’s not nice, Cee.”

Arcee rolled her eyes, and smiled an equally playful smile, “nice to see you haven’t changed. You can come with.”

* * *

 

“We’re supposed to be at a rock concert…but all I see is _rock,_ ” Miko whined—turning her irritation to Jack, “do you know how long I’ve waited to see _Slash Monkey_? Forever! And it’s their only U.S. date!”

The other boy laughed through his nose, “oh, there’s a shock. Who doesn’t love obscure Bulgarian shriek metal?”

Switchblade looked down at her pedes to hide her smile. _Humans are odd little things,_ she mused to herself. She looked over at where Sky Rider was leaning against the rock wall—her arms behind her head, and basking herself in the spring sunlight, and looking rather attractive doing so. Earth’s nature never failed to amaze her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Bulkhead turning on the Energon scanner, and it immediately started beeping.

“By all appearances, the mine’s been stripped,” Arcee had her hand on her hip again. She stared at the entrance to the mine for a moment before speaking. “This doesn’t make sense. This operation has been abandoned four—maybe five—years.

Bulkhead scratched the back of his neck and looked back down at the scanner, “well, I’m getting a signal. It’s faint, but it’s definitely Energon.

“Uh, guys…” Jack was pointing into the mine, where a now free Miko was running into the darkness.

Arcee turned to Bulkhead and gave him the most exasperated look. “She went in. Unbelievable.”

The mech only groaned and ran after the girl, calling her name to no avail. Sky Rider was about to laugh, but held it instead. After finally agreeing not to tell the boy’s mother, Jack and Arcee eventually entered the mine. Switchblade stood where she was—hesitant to go in at all, until there was an elbow in her side. Sky Rider…again. Switchblade would easily admit that it was nice to have someone around that was willing to talk to her, but maybe not someone who liked it more than she did.

“Aw, now, don’t stay out here like a signpost. C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Sky Rider had already taken the Seeker by the hand and was pulling her along, “besides, I ain't never been in an Earth cave before!”

Switchblade _humph_ ed quietly and pulled her hand out of Sky’s—taking a few steps ahead to walk next to the other femme. Honestly, she failed to see how she would be of use on this mission, seeing as how she had never actually been to this mining operation. She had never been to any of them aside from that one she had been assigned guard duty. When that blew over, Switchblade was never really allowed to do anything outside the ship. Sky Rider began to run a digit over the cave wall absentmindedly and the noise made Switchblade’s optic twitch.

Ahead of them, Arcee’s comm buzzed, _-Arcee, found something.-_

 _-Bulkhead? Bulkhead, do you read?-_ The returning line was nothing but empty static. “Scrap. The mineral composition down here is causing interference. Hey, you,” she turned around and pointed at Switchblade, “do you know your way around this mine?”

Switchblade shook her head, “I’ve never been here before. But all Decepticon mines are required to follow a similar pattern, so…I can figure out where we are if I can find any identifying structures.”

Arcee nodded faintly and turned back around. Staring at the older femme’s back gave Switchblade the not-too-far-off feeling that Arcee didn’t like her that much. Or at all, for that fact. On the other hand, however, Sky Rider seemed to like her too much. And none of the other Autobots really paid her any mind for the most part. If they could, they sometimes went about as if she wasn’t there. For the first few days, though, it was agreed that she was to have a guard about her at all times. When Optimus saw that she wasn’t any sort of threat, he removed the guard policy, though she was still not to leave the base. The latter part, was apparently now beginning to be weaned off, given her present location.

As they walked, a familiar voice began shouting from the cavern ahead of them.

“You have ceased to be of use to me, Starscream.” Then came the sound of a blaster firing up, “so you shall simply cease to be!”

Switchblade knew that voice. She’d know it anywhere. It was Megatron, and he had Starscream with him. Her spark began to pulse so fast she half-expected it to crawl out her throat. In, not even half a second, the small group walked into the scene. Starscream was kneeling on the ground, hands raised high above his head, begging for his life while Megatron was aiming his canon at the other Decepticon.

Arcee hadn’t seen Jack step out ahead of the group, and in doing so, the young boy had drawn Starscream’s attention. And, also, Megatron’s. Arcee walked out after Jack—without realizing whose attention was now on them—and froze. Behind her Switchblade shad also stopped walking, though Sky Rider wasn’t paying attention and inadvertently walked right into Switchblade’s back.

“Oi! What’s up with—well, frag me flying…”

Once the warlord’s attention had refocused on the femmes and Jack, he immediately brought up his weapon and began firing on the four of them. Although, in the time it took him to raise his canon and fire, Sky Rider and Arcee had pulled Switchblade and Jack behind a rock, ordering them to stay down. The two femmes had already drawn their blasters and had begun engaging the two Decepticons, by the time Switchblade even thought to bring out her blaster. She was in no position—both literally and mentally—to fire at either Megatron or Starscream, but arming herself at least gave her the tiniest sense of security. She hadn’t really used her blasters since that night at the museum several weeks ago, she had called them out several times since them, but had never fired them.

“Starscream! You dare abandon me?!”  The warlord bellowed, enraged.

After a moment, Starscream ran past the group, a hail of blaster fire trailing him. The moment Switchblade saw him, her world slowed down. She could see him running away for his dear life, a look of true fear on his face. And in that moment, Switchblade’s insides boiled with anger, and deep within that anger, there was the smallest shred of happiness, because at that moment, she could see Starscream as terrified as she had been so many times before. The odd combination of happiness and anger within her immediately overruled any common sense she had, and pushed her to do something she never would have even remotely considered doing. She ran after Starscream.

As she transformed her blaster back to her hands and began to run after the Commander—if he was still that—she could hear Arcee and Sky Rider’s shouts fall behind her. But as Switchblade was starting to get closer to Starscream, he transformed into his alt mode and was flying off down the remainder of the cavern. The start-up of his engine had knocked her back a step, and the smoke had left her standing there in shock. For a moment, she stood there trying to process what had just happened before that burning anger from before rose up and took over again.

There was no hesitation in Switchblade’s voice when she screamed after him, “Starscream, you fragging sack of scrap! You’re not gonna run away from me!”

The words had barely left her lips and she was already in her alt mode and flying after Starscream, throttling her engines until she could go no faster. There was no way she was going to let him get away from her, not when she was this close to catching him. A dark thought began to work its wat through her mind and into her very spark: _make him pay._

Switchblade was so driven by that one thought, that she wasn’t paying attention to the cave around her. The walls of the tunnel were no longer as wide as they had been, and were no longer able to cross her wingspan completely; she had even failed to notice that the ends of her wings were already being scraped raw by the enclosing rock. Behind her, the ceiling had begun to collapse in on itself—the cracks in the ceiling above her and Starscream stretching further ahead every second. Rocks began to fall around Switchblade; a couple of the smaller ones scratching tiny lines in her plates, though she had to try and dodge the larger pieces. But she was so close. She was so close to finally catching Starscream—so close she could feel the heat of his thrusters against her plating. She was so close that she wasn’t paying attention to the falling rocks around her. A large chunk of the ceiling came crashing down on her right wing, hard enough that it knocked her to the ground and out of her alt mode.

Switchblade pulled herself up onto her knees and tried to focus around the falling ceiling. The entrance of the mine had been reduced to a tiny hole of light ahead of her, and she could barely see Starscream heading for that hole. Something hard—a rock, no doubt—hit the back of her head hard. Her vision clouded up, and the last thing she remembered was darkness, and Starscream yelling, “NO!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I modeled Sky Rider's accent after Eggsy Unwin from Kingsman: The Secret Service (bc i am kingsman trash and he is my absolute favorite). 
> 
> As always, this is un-beta'd so any mistakes are mine and I apologize.


	6. Rock Bottom Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is part two, directly following the last chapter...buts thats kind of a given.
> 
> ~~* RAPE/NON-CON TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. SLIGHT TRIGGER WARNING FOR ABUSE.*~~
> 
> I put those here instead of the tags because they only apply to a part of this chapter.

For a moment, Switchblade’s optics refused to open, and with how sore she was, she wouldn’t have been surprised if she was dead. That thought was immediately dispersed when she tried to take a breath and got a vent full of dust—her optics eventually opening when she almost gagged trying to sit up. When she did finally manage to pick herself up from where she had been laying on the ground, a bolt of pain shot up the back of her helm. Switchblade squeezed her optics shut again and held a hand up to where the pain had spread from; relieved when she pulled it away and found it free of Energon.

Switchblade let out a small sigh and turned on her runway lights—also finding relief when they all turned on—and looked around the freshly lit cave. It was too small to stand up in, but it was large enough she could at least move around to some extent. However, when Switchblade tried to move her wings, another sharp pain lanced out from the sensitive plates; the pain just bad enough that the femme let out a small yelp. When she tried moving them to get a better look at the damage, the wings only twitched lazily.

Switchblade stopped herself before she could panic, and ran the most reasonable situations she could come up with through her head. She knew that whatever was wrong with her wings was not extremely serious because she wasn’t getting any severe damage reports on her HUD, and she knew they weren’t pinned down by anything because she had been able to sit up. After he had taken the time to keep herself calm, Switchblade bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at her injured wings—silently praying they weren’t terribly injured.

At least she was half right.

While the majority of her wings were more or less intact—the lesser side being minor scratches, superficial dents and a thick coating of dust that would take her a good while to clean off—the tips were unfortunately less lucky. The thin plating had been ripped away and the exposed wiring had been scoured raw by flying against the cave wall. Small rivulets of Energon had already begun to drip slowly into dirt below and the air of the cave was beginning to sting against the uncovered wiring. Switchblade reached back and gingerly tried to touch the spot, but the moment her digit hit the wiring, another stinging wave shot up her struts—forcing another tiny whimper out of her. There was no way she could fly anywhere with that damage.

Across the darkness of the cave, there was a low groan; the sudden sound causing Switchblade to flinch. She hesitantly turned her lights up and scanned them around the area, finding only rubble in the beginning. Eventually, her lights fell across another figure laying facedown next to her. For a moment, all the young seeker could make out was the slivery plating, and her first thought was that  Sky Rider had miraculously managed to catch up to her.

When the other figure continued to remain still, Switchblade hesitantly reached out to it—setting her hand carefully on its shoulder to hopefully rouse whoever it was. The young femme made a small shaking motion, and the shoulder beneath her touch gave way a little.

And then a hand shot up to grab hers.

But the digits that wrapped around her wrist were not Sky Rider’s small, delicate, black ones. No, these were _talons_. Long and sharp talons. And she knew exactly who they belonged to.

“Ah, Switchblade…” A pair of burning rad optics glared up at her from the darkness to the side of her high-beams. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

There was a spilt second where Switchblade could feel her spark stop, and the Energon freeze in her veins, and the rest of the work stopped with it. She had run away, and for even those weeks she was caged in the bunker, she was safe. She was _free._ Now she had been dragged kicking and screaming back to the one thing on this planet that she had so hard to get away from. When it all came rushing back to her, it felt like she had the breath knocked out of her. When she looked back up, she was looking right into Starscream’s optics. Only he wasn’t even looking at her; his gaze trailing to the empty plane of her wings.

“What happened to your insignia?”

Not entirely the worst thing to ask in this situation. But regardless, Switchblade remained silent. Starscream still maintained the grip on her wrist, showing no intention of loosening it anytime soon.

“I asked you what happened to the Decepticon insignia that used to be on your wings. Ignoring a superior officer—“

“You’re not my superior officer! You’re not my superior anything anymore!” The femme pulled her wrist in towards herself and kicked with one of her pedes as much as she could. The commander stumbled back on his knees as much as he could in the cramped space, a small cloud of dust made its way up from the disturbance of the gravel. Switchblade met his enraged glare with one of her own, “I may not be an Autobot, but I'm as sure as the Pit not a Decepticon anymore! There's nothing you can do to me now, Starscream!”

But the moment the words left her tongue, something in the air changed. Even from across the cave, out of the path of Switchblade’s high beams, she could see Starscream’s lips begin to curl into that sinister smile. She knew what would happen to her now; it was the same almost every time she tried to resist. He’d slap her around, call her some demeaning names, and then have his way with her. And every time she’d swear that that would be the last time he’d do anything to her. And every time he’d come back for her several days later and then the circle would repeat itself over and over.

 _‘I guess what they say is true…’_ Switchblade thought as Starscream made his way into the path of her runway lights, ‘ _no matter how far you run in a circle, you’ll always come right back to the start.’_

She was too busy being lost in thought to notice the commander’s hand coming at her from the side—the sudden stinging in her cheek hadn’t even registered until she was picking herself up out of the dirt. Starscream had to practically double over to walk in the space, but his footsteps were alarming nevertheless. There was a heel strut pressing lightly—and also very firmly—on her back between her wings. A shiver ran through Switchblade when Starscream finally did let his long talons snake all across her wings—tracing the little scratches and dents idly. When she tried to wriggle out from under him, he dug his knuckles into the exposed wiring at the tips of her wings; Switchblade began to scream, but went unheard.

Starscream made a _tsk_ ing sound and continued to ignore the pain of the femme beneath him, “my my my, you must take better care of your wings, Switchblade. How can you expect to fly away with them in this condition? Oh, that’s right…”

There was a long pause as Starscream removed his hand and wiped Switchblade’s Energon off his hand and onto the rock wall beside him. Then he made something along the lines of a quiet laugh and reached down for the younger Seeker’s helm. The length of his talons was perfectly suited for gripping firmly around her finials, as he removed his pede from her back and pulled her up by her head to meet his glare.

“…you can’t.”

The cold dirt collided with the side of Switchblades face as Starscream let her go forcefully. The small rocks stung against something wet, and she reached a hand gingerly up to her cheek. Thin rivulets of Energon were rolling down her digits. Surprisingly, most of her wanted to freeze where she lay, but something small forced her to reach and arm out and pull herself forward. The moment she moved, Starscream had her wrist pinned under his heel.

Switchblade yelped again, though once she did, Starscream immediately removed his pede and knelt down behind Switchblade. Her spark began to race faster and faster, while her fans kicked on—trying to keep up with her rising pulse. Starscream’s hands traced around the biolights on her thighs, letting his long digits snake around until they slowly came up to her interfacing panel. By now, both parties were more or less expertly versed in how to proceed. Starscream knew exactly where to go to open up the panel manually; Switchblade knew to brace her elbows to the side, squeeze her eyes shut, and wait out the session.

Starscream was an expert now at simply flicking her panel aside, and he always stopped for a moment to admire the soft mesh of Switchblade’s valve. He knew that she would always try and squeeze it as tight as she could for as long as she could, but it never deterred the commander. With one hand, he reached between his own legs to his interfacing panel, and slid it away—letting his partially erect spike hang freely. Starscream’s other hand was already busy drawing circles around the folds of Switchblade’s valve. After a second, he began slowly stroking his spike with his own hand, the motion finally drawing enough arousal to the spike that it was beginning to be unbearable.

When it really was no longer bearable, the commander leaned over the younger femme—and in one trained motion—pinned Switchblade’s arms in front of her and slid his spike into her tight valve. He was so used to her trying to prevent him from entering that he barely noticed the tightness. While Starscream was incredibly heartless, he was not—ironically—totally cold-hearted. He allowed his spike to simply sit inside of Switchblade for a moment, letting the mesh of her small valve accommodate the returning member before continuing. Everything after that was habitual.

Starscream’s breaths began to hitch in his throat as he slowly pulled out; when he thrust back in, he leaned forward with the motion, until Switchblade could feel his hot breath rolling down the back of her neck. He never inherently went fast when he was with her, leaving Switchblade to assume he was either enjoying it enough to want to savor the moment, that he was actually trying to be considerate and not hurt her (though after everything, she didn’t remotely believe this one), or that he was simply going slow to draw out her slow torture as long as he possibly could. Whichever one it was, they all had the same final result.

Switchblade always remained as quiet as she could. If she talked, that would warrant a response, and she’d have to hear how husky the commander’s voice got when he was having his way with her. If there was anything to be thankful for in her situation, it was that Starscream tried very hard not to cum within her. Switchblade wasn’t completely naïve, she knew precisely why. It was for the sole reason that, should either of her fathers find out about her having sex in the dusty closets of the _Nemesis_ , there is no physical evidence to trace back to Starscream. And putting her word against the Second in Command’s was about as useful as trying to hold back a tsunami with one’s hand.

While Starscream tended to take each thrust slowly, there was one occasion that he did speed up for. The commander was not subtle in anyway when he finally came. He leaned forward so much so that now, he was almost putting all his weight onto Switchblade—his grip on her wrists tightening and grinding them into the dirt until they felt almost raw; the pebbles beneath her cheek had been stained blue by the Energon slowly bleeding from the scrapes on her cheek from earlier. Starscream’s breaths were coming out in short, sharp gasps as one of his hands moved up from where it had been pressed on the ground and firmly grasped onto Switchblade’s thigh. His firm hold on the inside of her leg leading her hips to gyrate in tandem with the commander’s pushes.

From somewhere far off, there was a loud screeching—like claws scraping down glass. The noise got louder and louder until it felt like it was in the space right next to the two Seekers. Rubble began to rain from the ceiling, and the pile up of rocks in front of them began to fall away like parting water. The tip of a mining drill steadily pushed its way into the space, until it had made itself a large enough opening to stop.

“Hey, Arcee, I think we found—Ah! Okay…that is—Arcee you really need to get in there!”

Switchblade knew that voice. It was Arcee’s human, Jack. Which meant Arcee and Sky Rider were probably nearby. Her spark soared for barely a second before all her hopes shattered just as fast. Arcee and Sky Rider and the humans had seen her with Starscream. If they knew about the commander and her, they’d surely turn her out, and she’d be a target for both sides then. Switchblade didn’t know what to do now—whether she should beg for mercy now or later, or whether she should freeze where she was or to try and defend herself.

A silvery pede flew through the air just over her helm, but instead of hitting Switchblade, it hit Starscream. The commander immediately flew back a few yards, skidding into the rock with a dull crash. To Switchblade’s surprise, it was Sky Rider standing over her, guarding her more like. Arcee was standing in front of the drill, her hand hovering above the control platform where the kids were to keep them from looking at the scene.

“Sometimes it’s like I never left that shithole,” Sky Rider mumbled, but then cocked her blasters loudly and turned around to glare down angrily at Starscream, “You’re damn, **_damn_** lucky I don’ shoot your fraggin’ spike off! Shove it back in then, or I will shoot it off!”

She snapped at the commander with a force that Switchblade had never seen—not even Megatron yelled at him like that. From where she still lay frozen behind her, Switchblade could feel all the anger in Sky Rider’s EM field. It was pouring out, like someone was trying to pour water into a cup that was already full. Never had she felt someone be so enraged at once. But while Starscream was trying to recover what few shreds of dignity he had left, Sky Rider turned her attention to Switchblade.

She knelt down next to the other femme; Switchblade cautiously sat up to make eye contact with Sky Rider, and after a moment of blankly staring, realized her panel was still open. She felt she had no dignity left to make her blush, and simply reached down and slid it closed. Without hesitating, Sky Rider brought a hand up to Switchblade’s face— the Seeker’s first instinct was to flinch away, but there was nothing to flinch away from. Sky Rider brought her hand up gently to the abrasion on the other femme’s cheek, following the motion with a quiet, “easy, m’not gonna do anything. Jus’ wanna take a look...”

The cold of Sky Rider’s felt oddly soothing against the rawness of Switchblade’s cheek—even the way Sky Rider’s thumb brushed against the scraped metal was careful. In barely two seconds, the silver femme had gone from threatening the second most feared Decepticon, to softly caressing a younger femme’s cheek.

When she spoke, Sky Rider’s voice had also become unimaginably gentler than it was a moment ago, “we’re gonna take care of him, an’ then we’ll all get out of ‘ere. Think you can walk?”

Switchblade nodded silently. The other femme held out a hand for her, and Switchblade took it carefully—standing up slowly, and keeping her damaged wings away from anything that could inflict more damage.

Sky Rider transformed her second blaster back into her hand and grabbed Starscream by the arm—yanking him up to his feet with much more force than the small femme looked capable of having. She shoved him at Arcee, “you swap Screamy here for Bulkhead, I’ll take the humans and Switchblade, and we’ll all meet topside, yeah?”

Arcee nodded and began herding Starscream down the corridor in front of her—blasters poised at his back. Jack turned the drill around and took point, while the two femmes followed behind.

They all continued in silence.

* * *

Returning to the base was not anything Switchblade was looking forward to doing. Tensions were already extremely high—being trapped under tons of rumble tended to do that. The moment they stepped through the ground bridge, Jack’s mother ran over to the humans, crying and hugging them tightly. Ratchet came over with his scanner, going over Arcee and Bulkhead slowly in turn—mumbling under his breath about every little nuance. Sky Rider was standing behind Bulkhead, listening to the old medic ramble on about something the mech had pulled in his shoulder. Optimus entered the main room and waited until Ratchet had deemed her medically stable before leading Arcee off to the side of the room. They spoke in a hushed tone; too quiet for Sky Rider to overhear. From the corner of her eye, she saw the humans go into Jack’s mother's car and drive out of the base.

The white armored femme leaned against the scaffolding, bringing a hand up to run a sore knot of cables in her neck. She craned her neck to better reach the sore area, but only then did she notice the thin black figure lingering across the room. Sky Rider turned around to look at Switchblade, the young Seeker trying to blend into the shadows of a corner yet again. She gave a long sigh, rubbing the back of her neck one more time before turning on her heel and walking over to the other femme—waving off Ratchet’s voiced concerns as she did.

Switchblade had her arms hugged around herself, staring at the floor. Her wings were as far down as a pair of wings could go. There was no easy way to approach her, and Sky Rider was playing through multiple scenarios in her head as she walked over, none of them coming across quite how she wanted. At the sound of footsteps approaching, Switchblade’s attention perked, and she looked up at Sky Rider with the same look in her eyes as someone who’d just lost everything.

“Hey, I, uh…I jus’…” Sky Rider took a moment to stare up at the ceiling and work out a sentence. “You should get Ratch to look at you. Those wings ain't lookin’ so good, an’  that thing on your face, an’...the other thing…”

Switchblade wanted to be mad at the other femme for bringing up the incident with Starscream, but she couldn’t bring herself to. In the mine, in that one moment, Sky Rider had shown her true compassion; Switchblade was grateful to her, if anything. In response, she simply nodded. Sky Rider led the black femme over to Ratchet, but when Switchblade stepped into view, the whole room went pin-drop silent. Even the Prime and Arcee stopped their conversation to look over at her. Bulkhead began to speak, but Sky Rider shot him a glare that stopped the words before they even got a chance to be spoken. Switchblade felt like she was being traded off, the way Ratchet motioned for her to follow him to their medbay. He led her to a more private berth in a smaller section behind the main bay—the smaller room completely hidden away from the rest of the base.

Ratchet motioned for her to sit on the berth, and she did so obediently. It was obvious that the room was some sort of separate storage room, but it was set up similar to a private examination room. The old medic filed through some small cabinets for a moment, grumbling under his breath about the need for more organization, before finally walking over to Switchblade. He set a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of magnetic bandages on the berth next to her.

“This may sting,” Ratchet said as he pulled a small mesh cloth from a nearby tray.

He dripped some of the antiseptic on the cloth and was gentle when he took Switchblade’s cheek in his hand. The red and white mech dabbed the scrape on her cheek carefully, going slowly but also being through while he cleaned the abrasion. It wasn’t long before he had set the cloth back on the table and tore off a strip of the bandages; the small square patch adhered to her cheek without her even feeling it. Ratchet pulled a stool over from the wall and brought the tray down onto the berth by him; now motioning for Switchblade to lie down.

Switchblade wasn’t overly fond of having work done on her wings, simply because it always hurt, and there was no way to sedate a Seeker’s wing without side effects. She had been used to Knock Out’s tiny, delicate claws, and she had her assumptions about Ratchet’s larger hands. To say she was surprised when he began to work was an understatement. It was obvious almost immediately that the years of both work and war had made given the older mech a worn tenderness. He’d always add in a quiet “this might hurt” or a “you’ll feel a slight pinch” before continuing. Once in a while asking her if she was still doing alright. Her answer was always yes.

After about an hour, the old medic set and welded some new plates on the tips of her newly repaired wings. He rose from his seat, and began putting various thing back in their places. Eventually, he stopped to talk.

“You might be sore for a day or so. That’s to be expected. However, if the pain gets too—”

He was cut off by a knock on the doorframe. Optimus stood in the doorway, his arms folded behind his back, and his back slightly turned towards the room in an attempt to maintain the privacy between both doctor and patient.

Ratchet turned back to Switchblade, “excuse me for moment,” and stepped out with the other mech.

Wherever they stepped off too, it was almost out of earshot, but for all her faults, Switchblade wasn’t dumb. If she had to, she’d bet a good guess she knew what they were discussing. It was getting a little on her nerves now, seeing as how suddenly everyone she’d ever met was discovering this secret of hers. If it could still be called a secret by now.

Recognizing that she couldn’t change any of that, Switchblade vented a small sigh and reached back to run a hand across the repair work of her wings. It was obvious that they had been repaired at the tips, but aside from some fresh welding lines, nothing seemed different. Even when the welding faded in with the rest of the plating, it would be barely noticeable, at the most. When she brought her wings up and let them flutter for a second, everything felt right—no exposed wired, no stray drafts of air.

From outside in the hallway, Switchblade had begun to overhear every few words of Optimus and Ratchet’s conversation:

“...what?!”

“….the mine…Arcee and Sky Rider…”

“Starscream's always been a little slipped in the processor…” Switchblade tried not to laugh when she heard that, “…but for her…so young…”

“…unfortunate, indeed…let her recover…her own time…”

A few more indistinguishable lines were spoken—nothing that Switchblade could understand through a wall—before the talking ceased completely and there were approaching footfalls. Ratchet returned to the room, a mixed expression on his face; something between apology and regret.

There was a silence before Ratchet spoke up first. But what he said surprised Switchblade completely.

“Like I was saying, if the pain gets too bad, then please talk to me.” He stepped to the side of the door, politely motioning that she was free to leave.

Switchblade stood off the berth and began to walk out, but stopped in the doorway. She looked over her shoulder at the older mech, giving him a simple, but honest “thank you”, before continuing out the door and down the hall to her room. She had pretended no to notice, but she knew everyone in the base was watching her back as she walked.

The room she shared with Sky Rider was dark—her side of the room being furthest from the light, and from the talking of the others. That was good, though. Switchblade liked the dark silence. It was her scapegoat. It was her hideaway from every bad thing in the world, because she could sit there and let the world pass her by.

“Hey.”

Switchblade didn’t bother to look up; she already knew who it was. Sky Rider was leaning on the door frame again, but the way she stood there didn’t carry her usual confidence. When there was no reply, the silver femme entered their shared room and sat down across from Switchblade on the berth. If Sky Rider didn’t know the Seeker was already there, she might think the berth was empty.  

“So, m’not really good at this kinda thing, but, uh…” Sky Rider trailed off into a calculative silence—making it obvious she was out of practice when it came to offering sentiment. “M’sorry. ‘Bout that mess back in the mine. I didn’ know you an’ Starscream were… _like that_. If I did, I wouldn’t have bugged ‘bout it.”

Even behind the less than perfect delivery, the apology was still sincere. However, sincere or not, Switchblade did not want some other femme’s heart-to-heart.

“I don’t need your pity.” The statement came out more blunt than the young Seeker had meant for, but conveyed her point regardless.

Sky Rider gave a small chuckle in the back of her throat, “good. ‘Cause I ain’t giving you any. Not my place, ya know?” She scooted back on the berth until she was casually leaning against the wall—arms folding across her chest.

There was a long stretch of silence, neither of them knowing what to say.  Sky Rider was tapping one of her digits against her plates like she was thinking; Switchblade hated that, but she wasn’t in the mood to say anything.

The silence persisted until Sky Rider gave another small chuckle, “ya know, this is real familiar. An’, I hate to be the one who pulls the ‘I Know How You Feel” card, but…I kinda do.” She waited until Switchblade looked up at her before continuing, “aww, don’t gimme that look, just hear me out. There’s a point to this—I swear.”

Sky Rider sat up, and whatever small smile she had had, was now one-sided, and almost seemed forced. She vented out a sigh, and continued, “I used to be a Seeker. When I was your age, I was. Beautiful wings—all long and slender. They shined if the light hit ‘em just right. Then—“

Switchblade cut her off, “why have all that taken away? Why have your wings removed?”

The other femme mumbled something under her breath (“ha, and so the silence speaks”) and cocked an optic ridge at the younger Seeker, “frag, if you’re gonna be cuttin’ in every two seconds, I’ll clamp your mouth shut and walk out.”

There was a quiet apology from Switchblade. But once Sky Rider began her story again, her tone immediately dropped. It had gone from one similar to that of a casual conversation between friends—even though neither of them regarded the other so closely—to that of someone who was remembering the pain of their past. It sounded out of place of a femme like Sky Rider.

“You ain’t never been to Cybertron,” she continued, “I know ‘cause you’re too young. You don’ know what it’s like to have an entire _world_ just…ripped out from under you. But, back before the war, it wasn’t all just happy flying. If you were a Seeker, you were treated no better than the scrap that washed up in the gutters. Well, ‘less you were wrapped around a pole. I already told you ‘bout my parents. An’ how s couple of loan sharks done ‘em in. But after that,” Sky Rider shook her head for a second—stopping to run a hand through her finials, “I was a little younger than you, an’ living on the street wasn’t the most appealin’ option.”

Sky Rider paused to take a breath, and it was clear to Switchblade that reliving the details of her past wasn’t something she had wanted to do. However, she was also too invested to stop.

“Anyways, I was a little younger than you, but I found this club. And the owner always acted like he had some scrap stuck way up his ass. But the old fragger hired me anyways. So there I was: dead parents, homeless, bussin’ tables and moppin’ floors in the shadiest bar in a five click radius. I slept in the back room and that was that. When I was ‘bout as old as you, the old shit let me get up on that stage and dance with the rest of his pleasure bots.” There was a wry smile on Sky Rider’s face as she continued, “I made more shanix in a week of prancing around that stage that I did in two months of cleanin’. I had no clue what I was gonna use that money for though.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Switchblade finally uncurl from her ball—she still kept her arms hugged around herself, but even letting herself open up that much was a step.

Sky Rider took a cue, and relaxed again, leaning back on the wall like she had earlier, “but one day, this big mech walks in, and takes a table right up next to the stage. So I walk up an’ do my job—chat him up and try and get him into the back with me. After a long time of my best flirting, he stands up and I take back to my room. I get him on the berth and wrap my legs around him, but ‘fore I can start anythin’ good going on, he stops me. Says he just wanted to talk. He was an enlistment officer for the Autobots. And damn, he was good at he job. He said he could ‘change my life’ and ‘turn it around’—that he and the Autobot cause could ‘help me become someone great’.”

“And what did you say?” Switchblade finally asked from her long silence.

“I said ‘I'll think about it’ and I guess it worked, ‘cause he got up, paid me twice my rates, an’ left.”

“Then what did you do?”

“What’d I say? I'll still clamp those lips shut…” Sky Rider’s casual smile had returned—even if only for a second—before her expression went dark once more, “but, I finally did what I had wanted to for for a long time. I took every cent had to my name, an’ I went down to this back alley medic. I told him to take off my wings. An’ he did…for fifteen hundred shanix. I just barely had enough, but one life saving and half a day later, I was a new femme,” Sky Rider stared down at the floor, even her visor held a solemn expression. “I took what used to be my wings out back and burned ‘em in a dumpster. When I got back to the club, I left every last shanix I had left over on the bar with a note that said ‘thanks’. After that, I walked down to the enlistment center and they shipped me off to basic. A few weeks later, I roll up into Autobot Scouting Unit number 555…an’ my first night, I get into a fight in the mess hall with some skinny little femme named Arcee. An’ now I'm here.”

Sky Rider had lightened her tone by the end, but it still carried the same message. Switchblade could tell simply by the way she spoke that the other femme had needed to tell her story, even to someone who wouldn't have listened, she had just needed to talk. But even as the silver femme was standing off the berth—her hands resting behind her helm, as she walked out—there was something distinctly clearer about her.

“Sky Rider?” Switchblade called to her back— the other femme stopped in the doorway at the call of her name. “Thank you.”

“Nah…don’ mention it. Just…do me a solid. Never forget this: 'life persists'.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "life persists" thing is from the last page of the last issue of Last Stand Of The Wreckers. I threw it in last minute because i just kinda thought it fit. I hope it's not too cheesy or out of place, though.
> 
> As always, this was un-beta'd so any mistakes are mine and i apologize.


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